Funeral for a Friend
by anonymousTBCfan
Summary: It's ten years after detention, and the members of The Breakfast Club have gone their separate ways. When one of them dies, the others are reunited for the funeral, and they try to make amends for the past. The story focuses on Allison and her feelings.
1. Chapter 1

Name: anonymousTBCfan

Rating: M – Hardcore swearing, drug and alcohol use

Author's Notes: This is my very first fan fiction story. There won't be any updates, because it's a completed work. Please review! Hope y'all like it.

Disclaimer: The Breakfast Club and all related characters are registered trademarks of Universal City Studios and the John Hughes Estate.

**Funeral For A Friend**

**Chapter One**

The ringing telephone startled Claire out of a sound sleep. She opened her bleary eyes and groped for the telephone on the nightstand beside her bed. Groggy and still half-asleep, she raised the receiver to her ear. In a dry, scratchy voice she said:

"Hello?"

"Claire?"

Claire rolled over, sat up with a groan, and turned on the lamp she used when reading in bed. "Who is this?"

"Allison Reynolds."

The mention of that name from her distant past jolted Claire awake. "Allison Reynolds from Shermer High School, from detention?"

"Yeah, it's me. Uh, Claire ..." During the pause that followed, Claire's blood turned to ice. A myriad of horrifying thoughts flashed through her mind. This had to be bad news. No one called at two-thirty in the morning with good news.

"What is it?" she asked, trying to stem the panic that was rising in her chest, making her heart beat faster. "Allison, what's wrong?"

No reply at first, then a deep, mournful sigh. Finally Allison spoke.

"It's about John. John Bender. He was in an accident, um, a car crash." Another long pause. "Claire, he's dead. John is dead."

Claire was too shocked to respond. A mortified gasp escaped her lips. She was frozen in position, sitting in bed with the telephone receiver cradled between head and shoulder, mouth agape in shock.

_John is dead._

The words ricocheted in her brain like a bullet. She felt a buzzing in her ears, and a sense of disconnection, like she was watching a movie starring herself. It all seemed so surreal. She was starting to drool from her parted lips.

Allison was afraid that Claire had hung up the telephone. "Claire? Are you there? Claire, talk to me!"

At last Claire blinked her eyes, as some semblance of coherence returned to her reeling brain. She felt like a punch-drunk boxer who had just gotten his bell rung. She wiped her mouth with a reflex expression of disgust. She groped for words, not knowing what to say.

"Claire!" Allison shrieked.

"I'm here," Claire said in a distant voice, like a garbled radio transmission from halfway across the world. She felt isolated, like she was trapped between dimensions in time and space. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling. "What-what happened?"

"A drunk driver was driving down the wrong side of the highway and smashed head-first into John's car. He was already dead before the ambulance got there. They tried to revive him, but he was gone. Oh my god, Claire, I'm so sorry." Allison's voice was choked with emotion. She tried to be strong and not weep—not yet, at least—but she couldn't stop the hot, salty tears from burning her eyes and streaming down her cheeks. She felt hollow inside. Her heart thudded dully in her chest. She could already feel a migraine headache brewing behind her throbbing eyeballs. "I'm so sorry," she repeated listlessly.

"Oh my god." Claire shook her head to clear the fog in her brain. She ran a hand through her tousled red hair. "When did it happen?"

"Yesterday, early in the morning. I heard about it on the news tonight, so I called John's mother. She's taking it pretty hard. I know how she feels."

"Oh, wow. Holy shit." Claire yawned. "When's the funeral?"

"Saturday afternoon at two. Shermer Memorial Funeral Home." Allison cleared her throat. "Can you make it?"

"I'll be there. Have you talked to the others yet?"

"No. I called you first because—well, you know."

Claire licked her lips. "Yeah. I know."

"Don't worry, I'll call Brian and Sport-o. You just do what you have to do for yourself. John's mother's handling all the, uh, arrangements and stuff."

"Make sure everyone else shows up," Claire said resolutely. "Everyone."

"Don't worry, they'll be there if I have to drag them there myself."

"Thanks." Claire's voice was thick with grief.

"What are friends for?" Allison ignored the question's inherent irony.

"How did you get my number?"

"I called your dad. He was real nice about it, even though I know I woke him up."

"God, it's been such a long time since—"

"I know." Allison paused. "Listen, I'd better let you go. I still have to call Brian and ... Andy."

"How is Andy? I haven't talked to him in years."

"How should I know?"

"Sorry." Claire assumed Allison had never gotten over Andy, so she changed the subject. "It'll be nice seeing Brian again."

"Yeah. Good old Brian." Allison sighed wearily. "Well, I'd better let you go. I know it's late. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Allison."

"Hey, I know you'd do the same for me, if ..."

"Yeah, for sure. Well, thanks for letting me know."

"I'm just sorry I had to be the one to tell you. Jesus, Claire, I don't know what else to say. I'm still in shock, you know?"

"It's okay." Tears spilled from Claire's sleepy brown eyes. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Okay, I'll call you when I get home from work. Hey look, no bullshit: Are you gonna be all right?"

Claire sniffled. "Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'll be fine. I just want to go back to bed."

"All right then." Allison recited her phone number. "Call me any time you want. If I don't answer, leave a message."

"Okay, thanks. 'Night, Allison."

"'Night, Claire."

Claire hung up the telephone, took a prescription bottle from the top drawer of her nightstand, and shook a Xanax into the palm of her trembling hand. After a brief pause while she thought it over, she shook out another pill. She washed down the tranquilizers with a swig of bottled spring water, then replaced the cap and put the bottle back on the nightstand. She turned off the lamp and crawled underneath the covers. She tossed and turned for half an hour until the Xanax kicked in, then she slumbered peacefully the rest of the night.

xxx

Allison hung up the telephone and sighed. She knew Claire's heart was breaking, but there was nothing she could do to alleviate Claire's pain, or her enormous sense of loss. Allison's heart was broken, too. She and Bender had become very close over the years since that fateful Saturday in detention.

After two years of community college, Allison had gone to UNLV, of all places, with a double major in art and social work. Bender never could picture "Psycho," as he had affectionately called her, in a place like Las Vegas. That was Allison: totally unpredictable.

A sharp pang of guilt wracked Allison like a muscle spasm. She had known better than anyone just how vulnerable Bender was. She remembered the hurt-puppy-dog look in his eyes that rainy day she left for Nevada. He had already lost his beloved Claire; now he was losing the one person who understood him better than anyone else ever had. Allison had been like a life preserver for Bender. Their friendship had been the one thing that kept him from giving up altogether and becoming a drug addict, living the harsh life of a junkie in a filthy, rat-infested tenement, surrounded by other pathetic, malodorous needle freaks who had lost their very souls in search of relief. Allison still couldn't help feeling that she had let him down somehow, broken an unspoken pact. There was so much pain in those dark eyes of his. She had always empathized with how he felt. They had become like brother and sister, leaning on each other for support. Bender had always clung to her so tightly because he had no one else. Claire had broken his heart.

_And then I left him all alone when I went away to college._

Allison sipped her drink pensively. There was no logical reason for her to feel guilty about leaving Shermer. After all, she had a right to live her own life, especially after being rejected by Andy. She loved Bender, but their love had been strictly platonic. They had shared something that transcended romance: they were _friends._ Theirs had been the only relationship from The Breakfast Club which had stood the test of time. Everyone else had gone their separate ways. Allison no longer felt bitter about it. That was just the way it was, and she had finally learned to accept there were some things she just couldn't change, no matter how badly she wanted to. At least she had made one legitimate friend in Bender. That was a minor miracle in itself, considering how erratic and skittish she had been before meeting Andy.

_Andy._

It always amazed Allison, how one word could conjure up such a multitude of conflicting emotions, making her heart swell with joy one moment, then burst apart in a million little pieces.

_Well, you had your chance, Sport-o. I __guess it just wasn't meant to be. Life's a bitch._

Allison forced herself to stop thinking about the past. She could meditate on that later. She rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands, lit a cigarette, and dialed Brian's number.

xxx

Brian "Ralph, as in puke" Johnson had eventually grown into a tall young man, even handsome, once his zits had gone away for good. He was a physics professor at MIT, his _alma mater._ He enjoyed teaching because the students in his classes were eager to learn. Most of them had been nerds in public school, so Brian understood the kind of pressure his students were subjected to. He tried his best to be a good role model for them. He was a member of MENSA, and highly respected by the faculty. His students often asked him confidentially for advice on personal matters. They knew they could trust him to keep their secrets safe. Other staff members had spoken well of him. In the insular world of academia, his star was definitely rising.

Brian was too tired to answer the phone, so he let the answering machine pick it up. However, when he heard Allison's voice, unmistakable even after all these years, he leaped out of bed and snatched the receiver from its cradle. "Hello?" He fumbled with the answering machine, trying to switch it off. "Damn it! Hang on ..." Eventually he got it sorted out.

"Allison? Is that you?" he asked, stifling a yawn. He groped in the darkness for the nearest light switch. His eyes widened when he noticed what time it was. _Three o'clock in the morning!_

Allison cleared her throat. "Sorry to call so late, but I thought you should know something." She paused. "John Bender's dead."

Brian's heart stopped for a second, then began pounding in his chest. "What? John Bender's dead?" he asked dazedly.

"Yeah." Another pause. "He was killed by a drunk driver. He was already dead before they got him to the hospital."

Brian wiped a hand over his eyes and blew out his breath. "Holy shit," was all he could manage to say. "Holy shit."

"The funeral's this Saturday at two o'clock. Shermer Memorial Funeral Home."

"Wait, let me write it down." Brian jotted some notes on a notepad he kept by his bed. "Okay, got it."

"You'd better show up," Allison threatened, "or I'll come looking for you. I'm emotionally unstable, remember?"

"Don't worry, I'll be there."

"Okay. Well, I'd better let you go. I already talked to Claire; I still have to call Sport-o."

Brian scratched his nose. "Hey, how did you get my number?"

"I called your parents."

"Did my dad answer the phone?"

"No, I talked to your mom."

Brian breathed a sigh of relief. If Allison had woken up his father in the middle of the night instead, Brian would be receiving an angry phone call sometime during the next few days. His mother was strict, but at least she cut him some slack. His father was a total ball-buster.

"Okay, I'll see you Saturday." Brian said good-bye and hung up the phone.

Brian was deeply disturbed by this unexpected news. He contemplated taking a Valium, but he didn't want to be groggy when he woke up tomorrow. He chose a cup of hot chocolate instead, made with warm milk. After brewing the nightcap, he returned to his bedroom and sat down on a leather desk chair, sipping hot chocolate. His forehead was wrinkled in concentration.

How long had it been since he'd seen Bender? Ten years? Had it really been that long? He couldn't believe Bender was dead. The Breakfast Club had just lost one of its members. Permanently.

Brian finished his drink, used the bathroom, turned off the light, and lay down in bed. It was some while until he finally went back to sleep.

xxx

Allison stared at the phone, as though hypnotized. She dreaded the prospect of calling Andy, but he was still a member the club, and he deserved to know about Bender's fatality. She hoped Andy answered the phone, not his wife. That would be an awkward scene. She sipped her cocktail, took a deep breath, and dialed the number with a jittery finger.

After three rings a familiar voice, roughened by sleep and a parched mouth, said, "Hello?"

The sound of Andy's voice sent chills down Allison's spine. Her vision blurred momentarily.

"Hello?" Andy repeated, a note of impatience creeping into his voice. "Who is this?"

"Hi, Andy, it's me: Allison." Her heart accelerated with a fresh burst of adrenaline.

Andy recognized Allison's voice immediately. The memory of her made him shiver. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "How'd you get my number?"

"From your mom." Allison paused. "Sorry to call so late, but I've got some bad news."

Andy got up out of bed and took the portable phone with him to the bathroom. "What's up?" he asked, his brain still fuzzy with sleep. "What's wrong?"

"John Bender's dead," she said bluntly. "He was in a drunk-driving accident."

Andy sat down on the commode, shocked. His mind refused to accept what his ears had heard. Then again, if anyone had asked him to predict whom would be the first member of The Breakfast Club to die, he would have picked Bender, no doubt about it. Andy assumed that Bender had been the one drinking.

"Damn! I knew Bender was gonna push his luck too far one day." He ran a hand through his short blond hair.

Allison was indignant. "John wasn't the one who was drunk," she told Andy in a frosty voice. "The other driver was drunk. He was driving down the wrong side of the highway and crashed head-on into John's car at seventy miles an hour. John's the victim here, Sport-o." Allison remembered something Bender once told her: "People always think the worst of me. No matter what I do, everyone just automatically assumes I'm the bad guy."

Andy's face burned with shame. "Hey, Allison, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"I know what you meant," she said brusquely. "Look, you'd better write this down: John's funeral is Saturday at two o'clock. Shermer Memorial Funeral Home. I don't have to tell you what'll happen to you if you aren't there."

Andy massaged his temples. "I'll be there." He grimaced as his wife knocked on the bathroom door. "Honey? Are you all right?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah, be right out."

"Well, I guess I'll let you get back to the old ball-and-chain, Sport-o," Allison said dismissively. "You'd better show up Saturday, or else."

"I already said I'll be there." Andy sighed. "Look, I know you and Bender were close, but I liked him too, you know."

"You sure have a strange way of showing it."

Andy recoiled. That was a low blow: Allison had hit him below the belt. "Look, I swear to God I'll be there. Okay?"

Allison relented. Her hostility was spent. She was too exhausted to fight any more. "Okay, I'll see you then."

Andy hung up the phone and returned to bed, where his wife was waiting for him, pretending that she was reading a magazine. "Who was that?"

"Just an old friend. Had some bad news to tell me. One of my old buddies from high school got killed by a drunk driver."

"Oh my god." She put her magazine on the nightstand and touched Andy's arm. "That's horrible! I'm so sorry. Was he a close friend?"

"Yeah. The funeral's Saturday afternoon in Shermer. The service starts at two. Could you make the travel arrangements for me while I'm at work tomorrow, sweetie?"

"Of course." She snuggled up beside Andy and held his hand. "Was it one of the boys on the wrestling team?"

Andy smiled, recalling Bender's low opinion of men in tights. "No, he wasn't an athlete. Probably could've been, if he wanted to, but he was ... different."

"Different how?"

"He wasn't like the other guys I knew in high school. You just had to know him to understand."

She gasped. "Was it one of the boys in that club, what did you call it—"

"The Breakfast Club. Yeah, he was in it. Bender. John Bender." Andy rubbed his eyes. "Shit! I can't believe he's dead. That sucks."

Andy's wife lay her head on his shoulder. "Was that Allison who called?"

"What makes you think that?"

She looked him directly in the eyes. "Because you took the telephone into the bathroom so you'd have some privacy. I'm not stupid, darling."

"I know you're not stupid. Look, I just went in there because I didn't want to wake you up, that's all."

She squeezed his hand. "I understand."

"So you'll make the travel arrangements for me?"

"Yes, dear. I already said I would. Remember?"

"You're the best, you know that?" Andy kissed the nape of her neck. "Love you," he murmured in her ear.

"Love you too." She soon fell asleep again, nestled in the crook of Andy's arm. Andy, however, could not stop thinking about The Breakfast Club, and the friends he had left behind so long ago. For the first time since he was a child, he felt like crying—not just for Bender, but for all of them, even for himself. He was so upset, he barely managed to drift off to sleep before his alarm clock sounded.

xxx

Allison hung up the phone and took a long sip of vodka and orange juice, until her hands stopped shaking. Then she lit a cigarette, exhaling smoke slowly through her nostrils, like a dragon after unleashing a fireball.

Tears trickled down Allison's cheeks as a flood of memories inundated her. The first—and only—time she kissed Andy. Partying with Bender and his crazy friends. Gradually coming out of her shell, meeting new people and enjoying new experiences. She had actually been happy, for a while. Those were the good old days, never to return.

Allison stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray and nervously lit up another. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, so she put some coffee on to brew. She had already decided to take the day off from work tomorrow and do what she could to help Mrs. Bender, whose husband had died seven years ago. Bender had refused to go to the funeral, much to his mother's dismay. That was Bender: stubborn as a mule. He had never been able to let go of the past.

Seven years ago. That was just about the time Allison moved to Las Vegas. She drank the rest of her Screwdriver and crushed out her cigarette. Embers smoldered in the ashtray, slowly dying, like an animal lying in a ditch after being struck by a car.

Lying in bed, Allison curled up like a fetus and hugged her knees to her chest, sobbing with grief for everything that had been lost over the years.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

As it turned out, Claire was absolutely right in her prediction about what would happen on the Monday after detention.

Allison arrived early and waited outside the front entrance to the school, wearing her usual bag-lady attire. The "black shit" was back, too. However, she had put on pink lip gloss, washed her hair with anti-dandruff shampoo, and feathered her bangs so her face showed—the way Andy liked it.

Not that it made any difference. When Andy arrived, walking up with some of his jock buddies, their eyes met. Allison smiled tentatively at him, but he didn't smile back. Andy looked nervous and fidgety. He walked right past her, ignoring her while he and his friends made crude remarks about which cheerleaders had the best bodies.

Allison's stomach churned with the intensity of the emotions she was feeling: heartbreak, disappointment, frustration, rage, impotence, and despair. She thought about skipping school, but opted instead to stick around and see how the others treated her.

Brian showed up next. When he saw Allison, he looked away and lowered his head, scurrying through a gauntlet of students milling about in front of the school.

Allison was stunned. After that big speech Brian had made about not snubbing anyone, here he was, blowing her off. What a bunch of bullshit. He was a phony, just like Andy turned out to be. Allison felt even more depressed. She had thought that Brian would be the one person who wouldn't ignore her—but he did, the little chickenshit.

Allison felt a catch in her throat when she saw Claire, surrounded by her preppie entourage. They were talking and laughing—probably gossiping behind some poor girl's back. Allison could feel the fury swelling inside her, and the heat of blood rushing to her cheeks. She decided to confront Claire in front of everyone in the whole school. Gathering up her courage, she marched over and said, "Hi, Claire."

Claire's friends gawked at Allison like she was an alien that had just debarked from a spaceship. "Wow!" exclaimed one of the girls, a ditzy brunette with too much makeup who was chewing bubblegum like a cow chewing its cud. She was repulsed by Allison. "Like, do you know this person, Claire?"

Claire bit her lip nervously. "Well, um, we were in detention together last Saturday."

"And?"

Claire hesitated before answering. She was starting to sweat. She felt a sharp, stabbing pain deep inside her abdomen. She shrugged and said, "Nothing. She's nobody."

"For sure," the brunette said haughtily. "She's a major mental case." She blew a bubble, then popped it and resumed chawing on her gum.

A redheaded girl wrinkled her nose in distaste at Allison's waifish appearance. "She looks grody to the max."

The other girls started making fun of Allison, cutting her to pieces with their derogatory remarks. Claire didn't join in, but she didn't stop them, either. She couldn't even look at Allison, she was so ashamed of herself. Her big brown eyes were sad and watery. She looked like she was about to cry.

Allison was irate. "Fuck you, Claire! Bender was right: you are a bitch!" She turned and stalked away, her head down, not looking at anyone.

Claire's friends were flabbergasted. "Whatever," the redheaded girl said, shaking her head in disbelief.

A tall blond girl, who was the captain of the varsity cheerleading squad, rolled her eyes in contempt. "What a psycho. She actually thought you'd talk to someone like her? As if!"

"Like, what's her problem?" the gum-chewing brunette asked. "Seriously."

"I don't know," Claire said meekly.

"Where'd you meet that freak?" the tall blond cheerleader asked.

"In detention, like I said before."

"Oh-my-god. You mean you had to spend the whole day locked in the same room with that weirdo?"

"Yes." Claire's voice was low, her mouth dessicated. She was so choked up, she could barely speak.

"That must've been, like, totally lame," the blonde sympathized, absently twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

"Hey," the brunette said, "that freak said something about Bender. Did she mean John Bender?"

Claire nodded. "Yeah. He was there, too."

"Ew!" The redhead grimaced. "He's so gnarly. He looks like he lives in a dumpster."

"I heard he's a drug dealer," the blonde confided. "He looks like a burn-out case."

"He's in my English class. First period. He hardly ever shows up for class, thank God! What a low-life scumbag."

"Totally. He belongs in Joliet with the rest of the criminals."

Claire and her coterie climbed the steps to the school's entrance. Claire glanced back to see if Allison was still in the vicinity, but Allison was long gone.

Claire felt sick to her stomach when she entered the school. She had chosen to play it safe. Now she had to live with the consequences of her decision.

xxx

Allison didn't want to be around other people. She made her way to the bleachers at the football field, looking down at the ground as she walked, not wanting to see any faces. She just wanted to go some place where she could be alone and cry.

She padded up the riser to the covered part of the grandstands, her sneakers making soft pattering sounds on the metal steps. The day was gloomy and overcast, which suited her just fine. The bleak weather reflected the way she felt.

Allison figured there were probably a few burners lurking around, skipping first period and smoking pot, but they usually hung out down by the concession stands. She didn't think anyone would bother her way up in the covered-seat section.

She sat down on a cold metal seat, dug a pack of cigarettes out of her cumbersome handbag, and lit one. She held the smoke in her lungs briefly before exhaling, relishing the burning sensation in her chest. It felt like her heart was on fire—or melting. Tears trickled from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She didn't care.

"Hey!" a rough voice said from behind her.

Allison's blood froze. She squeaked, then slowly turned her head to see who it was.

Bender tossed his head, and his swarthy face emerged from behind all that dark hair. He was slouching with his hands in his pockets, smirking. His eyes glittered in a mixture of mirth and malice. "How's tricks, Klepto?" he asked, staring intensely into Allison's eyes. His abrasive demeanor abated when he noticed she was crying. "Are you okay?" he asked, taken aback by her tears.

Allison blew her bangs off her forehead and wiped her eyes. "Well, at least you're still talking to me," she said bitterly.

Bender sauntered over and sat down beside her. "What happened?"

"Everyone else blew me off: Andy, Claire ... even the king of the nerds."

"No shit?" Bender gazed at Allison's cigarette. "I didn't know you smoke."

"Yeah. Believe it or not, Bender, you don't know everything about women—and you don't know jackshit about me."

Bender chuckled. "Meow. Kitten has claws."

Allison raised her hand and clawed at the air in front of Bender's face. "Don't fuck with this cat," she warned him. "I know how to use 'em."

Bender puffed on his cigarette. "I may not know everything about women, but I do know which bitch stole my switchblade." He stuck out his hand. "Let's have it. Now."

Allison reached into her voluminous handbag, pulled out Bender's switchblade, and handed it to him, scowling silently.

Bender examined his switchblade, then pocketed it, satisfied. "You can keep my lock. I can always get a new one from Carl."

"Okay," Allison said sullenly.

"So they all just ignored you?"

Allison nodded.

"Motherfuckers." Bender was more angry than surprised. He had expected this to happen, even though he had held out hope that Claire really would walk down the hallways with him, in defiance of the stratification of the school's established social cliques. Of course, he would never admit that to anyone, but deep in his heart, he was dying. He had really fallen for Claire, especially after she gave him one of her diamond earrings. At the time, he thought it meant she was giving a part of herself to him. Now he realized it had been a parting gift instead. It was something for him to remember her by, like the things Allison had stolen. Reminders of that special Saturday that they shared together. To Bender it seemed like The Breakfast Club had been disbanded when detention was over and they had all gone home. He had anticipated that, but now that it was official, the pain cut him more deeply than he had ever felt over losing a girl. He should have known better. A street punk like himself could never score a princess like Claire. It had all been just a fairy tale. It was nice while it lasted, but it was over now. He felt anticlimactic, physically and emotionally spent.

"Hey," Allison said, intruding on Bender's thoughts. "Know what I did?"

"What," he said gruffly.

"I confronted Claire in front of all her preppie friends."

"Oh yeah?" Bender arched his eyebrows. "What happened?"

"I yelled at her. I said, 'Fuck you, Claire! Bender was right: you are a bitch!' Her stuck-up friends looked like they were gonna shit in their panties." Allison squealed.

Bender laughed despite his smoldering rage. "Oh, man, I wish I could've seen that. What did Cherry say?"

"Nothing. She couldn't even look me in the eye. She's just a big coward. She's the queen bee in her own little social world, and she was afraid of losing all that for a nobody like me."

"You're not a nobody." Bender leaned closer so that their shoulders touched. "Sounds to me like you're the only somebody I met last Saturday."

Allison squeezed Bender's arm in gratitude. His kind words had made her feel a bit better about herself. She smiled shyly. "Thanks," she whispered.

Bender was overcome by a powerful sense of wanting to protect Allison. She was like some frightened little puppy locked in a cage at the animal shelter, hoping desperately someone would rescue her and bring her to a safe, happy home before she was euthanized and discarded, a sad misfit no one had ever loved or wanted.

Bender felt the anger boiling inside him again. He stood up and paced anxiously. "Well, fuck them! If they did that to you, they'll damn sure do it to me—especially daddy's little princess." He smacked his fist into the palm of his hand. "That faggot Clark ... I ought to kick his ass!"

Allison's eyes twinkled. "You saw how fast he put your ass on the ground in detention. You never had a chance."

"Hey, that was bullshit! I wasn't expecting him to attack me like that. I was just—you know—squaring off with him, like two boxers before a big prizefight. He's the one who overreacted, not me." Bender turned up the collar of his gray overcoat. His dark eyes were inscrutable behind the tinted lenses of his sunglasses. "I think I showed remarkable restraint, all things considered."

Allison rolled her eyes. "Please! He would've destroyed you without even breaking a sweat."

Bender was offended by her audaciousness. "Yeah, right. You just go on thinking that, Psycho." He sneered. "I don't know why you're sticking up for that punk, after what he did to you." He removed his sunglasses and gave Allison "the look."

"I'm not sticking up for him—just calling it the way I see it." Allison raised an eyebrow and regarded him with an icy stare. Her eyes were flinty and cold.

Bender refused to let on that Allison's unblinking staredown was getting to him. "Whatever." He stuck a joint in his mouth. "Mind if I smoke?"

"Only if you share."

Bender stared at her, perplexed. "Why didn't you get stoned with us last Saturday? Everyone else got stoned but you—even Sport-o, mister fitness freak."

Allison looked downwards. "I'm used to getting high alone and listening to music or drawing," she explained. "I thought I might get all paranoid and freak out if I got high with you guys." She had also been curious to see how the others reacted to the effects of the marijuana, but she didn't tell Bender that.

Bender shook his head, smirking. _Chicks._ "You missed out; it was some good shit."

"What about this stuff: Is it good shit?"

"Fuck yeah. I only smoke the best."

"Well, I want to feel numb inside, so blaze up, wastoid."

The words jogged his memory. He studied her thoughtfully. "You don't miss much, do you?" He flicked a match on his front teeth and lit the joint.

She shook her head. "That's the one good part about being invisible. I never miss a thing."

Allison seemed to withdraw into herself, like a caterpillar spinning its cocoon. She and Bender smoked the joint in silence, watching as low, dark clouds scudded across the sky. It started to rain; they heard big, fat drops splattering on the corrugated metal roof above them. To Allison the raindrops sounded like big, heavy rocks, but it was a soft, gentle rain. Mist spread across the football field. She made a mental snapshot of the scene, so that she could draw it later, if she desired. Or she might use those images as inspiration for something totally different. The creative process, at least for her, was dynamic and spontaneous. She knew that when the time was right, she had to go for it. That was how she had played it with Andy—purely on instinct. She had no prior experience with boys to guide her in the right direction, and she couldn't talk about it with anyone—not even her own mother—so she had just winged it, swept along by the passion of the moment.

A fresh wave of misery washed over her. She lit another cigarette, her face a mask of tragedy.

"Yo, can I bum one of those?" Bender was low on cigarettes, and was trying to conserve the few he had left.

"Sure." Allison handed him her pack.

"Winston 100's." He nodded approvingly. "Not bad. I'm a Marlboro man, myself. I figured you probably smoke one of those girly brands, like vagina slimes."

She glared at him.

"You know, you're cute when you're angry—kind of like Sport-o."

"I don't want to talk about _him,_" Allison growled through clenched teeth.

Bender raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. It just pisses me off, though ... that arrogant little shithead."

"Tell me about it."

They were silent for a couple of minutes, puffing distractedly on their cigarettes. Then she said, "So, what are you gonna do about the prom queen?"

He sighed. "I don't know. Maybe I'll just snub her: act like she's not there, like she doesn't even exist."

"It works," Allison said with a hitch in her voice. "That's exactly what Andy did to me. I got the message loud and clear."

"That fucking faggot!" Bender was livid. "What a douche bag! I ought to kill him!"

She smiled wistfully. "Well, now that I've given you your switchblade back, you have my permission to stick it all the way up his ass. Think you can handle that, you low-life criminal?"

He laughed. "It'd be my fucking pleasure."

They looked at each other, grinning. Allison tucked her hair behind her ear. It was an intimate bonding moment that forged the first link in the chain that was slowly but inexorably drawing them closer together.

There was something about Allison that reminded Bender of an old rock song, "Jackie Blue," by the Ozark Mountain Daredevils, one of those one-hit-wonder bands from the 1970s. She _intrigued_ him, that was it. Most chicks bored him when they wanted to talk, but Allison was so unpredictable that he enjoyed waiting to see what type of outrageous thing she might say next.

"What surprised me was Brian." She shook her head dejectedly. "I really believed in him. I thought he was the one person I could trust."

"That little pussy! He's a god damn geek. Where the fuck does he get off acting like he's better than anyone else?"

"He's no different from Claire and Andy. He may be a dork, but he's, like, king of the dorks, or something. He's supposed to be a shoe-in for class valedictorian. In the geek world of over-achievers and good grades, he's the equivalent of Andy and Claire. I guess he was afraid of losing his precious social status too."

"Well, fuck him anyway, right in the ass. What a punk! I should smack the shit out of him."

"Don't hurt him," Allison said tenderly. "He's no worse than Claire and Andy."

"What about us?"

The question took Allison by surprise. "What do you mean?" she asked warily.

Bender let his hair spill across his face to hide his vulnerability. "Are we still friends?"

She hunched her shoulders in relief. "Yeah, for sure."

"Like, totally?" he mocked in an imitation Valley-Girl voice.

Allison smiled. Her whole face lit up when she smiled like that.

"Totally."

They enjoyed a companionable silence. There was nothing awkward about it. Neither of them felt the need to ruin the moment with mindless chatter. They reveled in one another's presence. It was a remarkable feeling for both of them. They both wished that sense of comfortable intimacy would last forever. It was a rare and precious commodity in this cold, indifferent world.

The wind began to howl, chilling them. Dark storm clouds rumbled across the sky. Lightning flashed intermittently in the distance. The vapor of their breath began to fog, billowing like steam from their mouths and nostrils. Allison's ruddy cheeks stood out in stark contrast to her pallid complexion.

"Getting dark," Bender said, breaking the silence at last. He wrapped his red scarf around his neck and tucked his hands in the pockets of his overcoat.

"Getting cold, too." Allison cupped her elbows and shivered. She zipped her parka all the way to her neck and pulled the hood over her head. "I think I'm gonna skip school today. I don't think I can take much more of this." She paused. "My parents are out of town. They left last night. You want to skip school and hang out?" She bit her lower lip the way Claire did. It most certainly got Bender's attention.

"That's a real tempting offer, but I've got some business to take care of."

Allison tried to conceal her disappointment. "Well, I guess I'd better get going. You want a ride home?"

Bender declined. He didn't want her to see where he lived. He was too ashamed of his family and the shabby, dilapidated house with its cluttered yard full of rusted car parts and other junk. It was yet another source of his depression, which he vented by lashing out angrily, convinced he could conquer anyone who got in his way. He had won some fights; he had gotten his ass kicked a few times, too. Either way, he had always taken his lumps like a man. He had developed a high tolerance for pain at an early age, thanks to his dear old dad. He put on his sunglasses again, seeking shelter behind the anonymity of the tinted lenses.

"You sure? I've got my mom's car ... it's just right over there." She pointed in the direction of the students' parking lot.

Bender shook his head decisively. "The business I've got is right here. Besides, I'm used to walking." He put on a wool knit cap to protect his ears from the cold and smirked. "See ya, Psycho."

Allison watched him saunter off with that cocky swagger of his. She dropped her cigarette butt, ground it out under the toe of her shoe, and strolled to the parking lot. She started up the car, pulled out into the street, and headed for home, wondering why the thought of going home filled her with such dread.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Lunch. That was the time to catch them all together in one place, in front of the other members of their beloved cliques. Bender went into a boys' bathroom adjacent to the cafeteria, climbed up through the sound-absorbing ceiling tiles, and went to sleep in a warm cubbyhole above the kitchen. He thought the food smelled pretty good, actually. Too bad it tasted like shit.

The chime of the lunch bell roused Bender from his slumber. The students who had first-lunch were filing noisily into the cafeteria below him. He retraced his steps and returned to the same bathroom stall from which he had exited earlier. He went ahead and urinated since he was already there, flushed the toilet with the toe of his boot, washed his hands in the sink, brushed his hair, put on his dark sunglasses, and checked himself in the mirror.

_Perfect._

xxx

Bender made his way to the nerd table first, strolling leisurely, taking his own sweet time, enjoying the concerned looks he drew from the other students. They gawked at him like they were waiting for him to throw open his overcoat and whip out a sawed-off shotgun. He looked as remorseless and relentless as Arnold Schwarzenegger in "The Terminator."

Bender walked over and kicked Brian's chair, disrupting a heated discussion about thermodynamic principles. Brian's heart raced with fear. He looked up and saw Bender's dark sunglasses mere inches from his face. Bender rested his boot on Brian's thigh and leaned forward, bearing down the pressure of his weight on Brian's leg.

"Uh, hi, John," Brian said nervously, wincing in pain. "What's up?"

"You tell me, you little cunt," Bender hissed. "Allison said you blew her off."

"What? That's so not true. Wait a minute! Look—"

"Don't lie to me, you little cocksucker!" Bender raised his leg, then grabbed Brian's shirt and hoisted him off the ground. "You're a piece of shit," he said in Brian's ear, squeezing as hard as he could. Brian tried to wriggle free, but Bender's grip held firm. Brian looked around for help, but his friends had either deserted him or they refused to look up from their own lunches. Larry Lester was slowly waddling away. His raw asscheeks, which reeked of some kind of ointment, were still bandaged, padded with cotton gauze.

"Ow! You're crushing my ribs!" Brian cried.

"Good!" Bender set Brian down on his chair again and patted him on the back. "See? You're okay, dorkmeister."

Brian examined his midsection tenderly. "I hope so," he whined. "You were pretty rough on me."

"Not like I should've been. You're lucky: Allison begged me not beat your scrawny little ass to a bloody pulp."

Brian's eyes lit up. "You talked to her?"

"Yeah, unlike you and the other douche bags."

Brian sulked. "So I guess I'm as bad as Andy and Claire, huh?"

"You're worse than Sport-o and Queenie, you little faggot." Bender's fury rose in the back of his throat like bile. "Remember that big speech you made, Big Bri?"

Brian was too ashamed to look at Bender. "Yeah," he muttered, so softly that Bender could barely hear him.

"Well, I don't care, because I never believed anyone else's bullshit. But Allison, she believed in you—and you let her down, big-time. You hurt her, you little pussy!"

"I'm sorry!"

Bender grabbed Brian's shirt and pulled their faces close together again. "I ought to kick your ass, you punk, but Allison begged me not to. I guess I'm the only one who keeps his promises to her, because you sure as shit don't."

"Look, John—"

"Shut up, bitch!" Bender slapped Brian rapidly across the face, forehand and backhand. Brian's cheeks were bright red. Bender released Brian and pointed at him.

"Since you think you're too good to be her friend, don't you ever look at her, talk to her, or even think about her! You hear me? You go anywhere near her again and I'll personally beat the living shit out of you." He jabbed his forefinger in Brian's sternum for emphasis. "Understand?"

Brian gasped, clutching at the pain in his chest. He panted anxiously, head lowered in submission. "Yes."

Bender patted Brian's cheek, then he squeezed Brian's lips together. "Remember," he said ominously, "you don't even think about her. Don't say anything, just nod your head."

Brian nodded timorously.

Bender released his grip and backed off. "Good boy. You may look stupid, but I guess you're a pretty smart guy, like everyone says you are. Just make sure you don't ever get stupid with me again. Right, geek boy?"

Brian nodded his head, eyes averted.

Bender smiled, addressing the few students at the table who were still in their seats. "Did I tell you this kid was smart? He knew not to say anything without even having to be told." He raised his sunglasses and glared at Brian. "You'd just better hope you stay smart—for your sake." He lowered his sunglasses and stalked off, headed towards the exit.

Brian was thoroughly flustered. He gathered up his scattered food, smoothed his shirt, and cleared his throat.

"What the fuck was that all about?" whispered one of Brian's friends, once he was certain Bender had left the cafeteria.

Brian hung his head and sipped his apple juice. "Nothing," he mumbled around his straw.

xxx

Andrew Clark, star athlete and state-champion wrestler, was next on Bender's hit list. Sport-o would have to wait for now. He and Claire both had second-lunch. It was going to be a doubleheader, with All-Star John Bender leading off. He was going to destroy Andy first, then humiliate daddy's little princess in front of all her snotty rich friends. Bender was looking forward to it. He loved starting shit with rich preppie kids—and they didn't get much richer than Claire Standish. Andy's family wasn't rich, but they were doing better than all right—Bender was certain of that. Andy had plenty of nice clothes to wear, and he probably didn't even have a job, because it would interfere with his precious athletics schedule. His father probably gave him an allowance to make up for spending all his free time working out and training. Hell, Andy probably had more pairs of tights than a French ballerina.

Bender killed time hanging out under the bleachers, eating a lunch he had stolen from some nerd. The nerd had also given him enough change to buy a soda and a candybar. He dug through the lunchbag and examined its contents: a bag of potato chips, an apple, a dill pickle, and a ham-and-swiss-cheese sandwich with mustard on ryebread, lovingly wrapped in waxpaper. Not a bad meal, all in all. He ate with relish, anticipating the emotional fireworks that were about to come. There was something so liberating about telling people what you really thought of them. Sport-o and the queen of the school were about to find that out the hard way.

xxx

Andy was eating and joking with some wrestlers, leaning back in his chair, when Bender came up behind him. Bender kicked the chair out from underneath Andy. Andy went sprawling on his ass, a look of disbelief on his face. As he began to realize what happened, his friends stood up, arranging themselves in a cordon around him.

"What's your fucking problem, dipshit?" said a big guy, one of the heavyweight wrestlers.

Andy stepped forward. "It's all right, guys. This is between me and him. I'll handle this creep."

"Creep?" Bender laughed. "That's funny, coming from you, you fucking weasel."

Andy's face hardened. "Like I told you before, scumbag, two hits: me hitting you, you hitting the floor. Any time you're ready."

The big guy slapped Andy on the back. "Put him down, Clark! Waste his ass!"

Another wrestler restrained Andy. "Don't do it, man. You'll get kicked off the team if you get in trouble again. It's not worth it, bro. Think about your future. You want to blow your ride?"

Andy frowned. He knew he was wrong, but was unwilling to admit it. He shoved Bender. "Fuck off, Bender. You're not worth another Saturday in detention. I've got a big meet coming up."

Bender smirked. "Oh yeah. I forgot how much you like flopping around on mats, hugging sweaty guys wearing tights. You're a real _macho_ man, Clark—you and the rest of The Village People."

Andy lunged at Bender, but his teammates restrained him. "Don't do it, man," Andy's friend pleaded. "The team needs you. _We_ need you. Right, guys?" The other wrestlers voiced their agreement, even the big guy.

"She's the best thing you ever had, Clark, and you blew it." Bender smiled malevolently. "Hope you can live with that, tough guy."

The big guy stepped forward, towering over Bender like a giant. He growled. "Get lost before I pound you, you little faggot."

Bender strutted past Andy. "Too chickenshit to handle your own fights, Clark?"

Andy reached out in a flash and grabbed the lapels of Bender's overcoat. "Someday, motherfucker, I'm gonna fuck you up bad, you gutless punk! Now get lost, you white-trash piece of shit."

Bender shuffled away, still smirking. After about a dozen he paces he stopped and turned back to face Andy. He pulled out his switchblade and flicked it open with a metallic click. "Someday," he vowed, "I'm gonna stick every inch of this blade right up your ass, cocksucker."

Andy laughed. "Yeah, right. Why don't you come back and try it, you pussy!"

Bender turned around and strode toward Claire's table. As predicted, she had been watching the entire scene unfold in morbid fascination.

Their eyes met from across the room. Claire shook her head, her face pale with fright. Bender was smiling as he walked casually over to Claire's table. He stood there with his hands in his pockets, just chilling.

"How's tricks, ladies?" he asked genially.

"No tricks here, loser." Claire's red-headed friend sneered. "Walk on."

"Yeah, sleazoid." The brunette was still chewing gum, even while she ate. "Get far."

"Hey slimebag," the tall blond cheerleader said, "why don't you, like, disappear up your own ass?"

Bender looked at Claire. "What about you, Cherry? You got any more tricks up your sleeve?"

Claire couldn't say anything. She stared helplessly at Bender with tears in her eyes. She bit her lower lip, which finally drove him over the edge. He turned away in disgust. "Later, Princess." Bender started to walk away when he was accosted by one of the football players, a hulking goon who was big enough to play nose tackle for the Chicago Bears. He pushed Bender and pointed at the tall blond cheerleader. "That's my girlfriend, asshole," he said menacingly. "You don't go near her. Got it?"

Bender nodded slowly. "Got it, I got it." He brushed past the football player and disappeared into the crowd heading outside through the exit doors. Claire watched him go, her heart breaking, but she couldn't let anyone see that. It wouldn't be good for her image. She scowled instead.

"Oh my god, Claire," the brunette said, "he really thought you liked him?"

Claire nodded, still watching him go.

"Ew!" The redhead grimaced. "That is so gross!"

"Gag me with a spoon!" The brunette blew a gum bubble until it popped. "What a freakazoid."

The blonde blew her bangs out of her face in an unconscious imitation of Allison. "He must be retarded. He's probably in those special-ed classes. That's why we never see him in school. I bet he rides the short bus."

"We never see him because he's hardly ever at school," the redhead said. "Who cares, anyway? He's just a low-life piece of trash. Don't let him get to you, Claire."

"Don't worry, Claire," the huge football player assured her. "If he ever bothers you again, I'll kick the shit out of him!"

"It's okay, you guys," Claire said softly. "Really. He's nobody. He doesn't mean anything to me."

But that was a lie.

Claire excused herself and went to the bathroom, where she could compose herself in private.

xxx

Bender walked straight into assistant vice-principal Dick Vernon's office without knocking. Vernon stood up angrily, the cords in his neck rising. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Bender? You don't just come barging into my office like that! Knock first. Show some respect!" He eyed Bender suspiciously. "What do you want?"

Bender smirked. "This is your lucky day, Dick. I'm about to make both our lives a whole lot easier."

"What're you gonna do," Vernon said churlishly, "join the Army?"

Bender shook his head. "I quit."

Vernon was confused. "What do you mean, you quit?"

"I mean, I'm dropping out of school. Today. Now. What papers do I have to sign?"

Vernon hitched his thumbs in his beltloops and squinted at Bender. "How old are you?"

Seventeen—almost eighteen."

"Bullshit."

"Hey, look it up yourself. You've got a copy of my school records, don't you?"

"You bet your ass I do, wise guy." Vernon opened one of his filing cabinets and pulled out Bender's file. "I know all about you, Bender."

"Then you know I'm almost eighteen years old and still only a sophomore," Bender said pedantically, as if talking to a particularly dim-witted child. "Based on my grades, I'll be one again next year. I should be graduating this year; instead, I'll have at least three more years to go. I just don't think it's worth it. If I drop out, I can get my GED and get a job, start making some money. That's the only way I'll ever get out of this nursery school, unless you kick me out first."

To Bender's surprise, Vernon agreed. "I think you're right, John. I've tried to get you to straighten up and fly right, but some people have to learn the hard way. But if you're almost eighteen and nowhere close to graduating, you're better off dropping out now and getting your GED. That way you can still go to college, or trade school, or join the Army ... whatever you decide."

"You've got a real hard-on for the Army, Dick," Bender said candidly.

Vernon stood up straight and tall, like a drill sergeant. "Look, boy, the Army could do you a world of good. They knocked some sense into me when I was a young, dumb, punk kid just like you. You wouldn't even have go into combat, like I did. That's right, pal: I was in Vietnam, and I killed my share of gooks. It wasn't pretty, but when your country calls, damn it, you'd better answer the call! So I went to Vietnam. I saw things there, Bender, I did things, things no man should have to do." Vernon clenched his fists. "But it was war, damn it! A man does what he has to do to survive. That's what most of us were over there, Bender: a bunch of scared, young kids trying to survive. The happiest day of my life was when I got onboard that freedom bird and flew back home to the good old U.S.A. I survived, Bender: I survived Vietnam without a scratch. I knew a lot of other guys who weren't so lucky."

"Well, you've sold me. Join the Army and get killed. Where do I sign?"

"Listen to me, god damn it!"

Vernon's strident inflection got Bender's attention. He gazed evenly at Vernon. "I'm listening."

Vernon hunched his shoulders and sighed. "Look, John, I've been hard on you all these years because I didn't want to see you throw your future away just because you've got problems at home. I know you're a pretty smart guy, despite that chip on your shoulder. All I was trying to do was scare you back into line. Well, I guess I used the wrong approach, because it obviously didn't work."

Bender laughed. "It's not your fault, Dick. I'm a lost cause."

"There's something else," Vernon cautioned. "When you turn eighteen, you're legally an adult. You pull another fire alarm then and your ass is going to jail. That's not a threat, son, it's the law. If you drop out now, you'd be doing us both a big favor."

Bender considered the idea. "I guess you're right, Mr. Vernon." He offered his hand. "No hard feelings."

Vernon shook Bender's hand. "Good luck, John. I mean that."

Bender fidgeted, suddenly reluctant to leave. "So, is there any paperwork I need to fill out, or anything?"

"I'll have my secretary mail it to you at home. That way your parents can look it over, too. You can mail it back in when you get done filling it out. So, you're free to go. You're a free man, John. I hope things work out for you."

"Uh, okay. Thanks."

xxx

Bender roamed the halls of Shermer High School for one last trip down memory lane before he checked out for good. He wondered if he would ever miss this place. He felt compelled to stop and visit the library one last time.

Workmen had already reglazed the window Andy broke, but the repairs to the ceiling had only just begun. It was just one panel, though. The workmen were milking the job. They got paid by the hour. Otherwise, the mess made by Bender and the other members of The Breakfast Club had already been cleaned up, vanished down the memory hole along with the emotional bond they had all shared for one mind-blowing day.

Carl sidled up to Bender and grinned. "Don't worry, John," he said, "everything will be all fixed up in time for you next Saturday."

"Sorry, Carl, but I won't be here next Saturday—or any other Saturday after that. It's over."

Carl laughed. "Bullshit."

"Seriously."

"You mean Vern let you off the hook, after all that crap you pulled last Saturday? No way, pal. You know how much it's gonna cost to fix that ceiling?" Carl pointed at the hole Bender made when he fell through. "That's got your fingerprints all over it, man."

Bender shook his head. "I just dropped out. I've never seen Dick so happy. I just made his whole god damn week."

Carl stared at him in disbelief. "No shit?"

"No shit. I'm out of here, as of now."

Carl grinned sardonically and shook Bender's hand. "Good luck in the real world, kid. It's a tough old world we're living in, my friend. All we can do is just keep on keeping on, brother."

"Right. Well, you take it easy too, my man. Don't let Dick dick you around."

"Oh, don't worry about Dick." Carl raised a clenched fist. "I've got him by the balls."

Bender grinned. "You've sure got a way with words, Carl. See you around."

"See ya, John. Oh, by the way, just a little friendly advice between you and me: Try and stay out of jail, huh? You're way too cute for jail, dude. Seriously."

"Yeah, you got it."

Carl slapped Bender on the back and moved along with his vacuum cleaner, whistling cheerfully.

xxx

Bender entered the main office and signed himself out of school. He couldn't remember the last time he was in the office without being in trouble, sitting on one of the hard wooden chairs outside the vice-principal's office, waiting his turn to get paddled. He felt ambivalent about quitting school. He knew it was the right thing to do, but it still made him feel like a loser. He hated the idea that all those smug assholes who had predicted he would never graduate had been right.

The secretaries were watching him closely, as if they were afraid he might cause trouble. He had quite a reputation for starting shit. It was his own fault and he knew it, but he recoiled from the notoriety. All he had ever wanted was to be a regular guy, but he kept fucking up, as though he possessed some fatal flaw. All his life he had been blowing it. He wondered why that was. His self-destructive nature had made him his own worst enemy. The thought laid him low. He felt depressed and hopeless. Was he fated to be a fuck-up his whole life? Was that it?

_Please, no. Anything but that._

Bender felt claustrophobic. He finished his business and got the hell out of there, rapidly making his way to the exit. He was relieved to get outside, where he could breathe again. He lit a cigarette, his hands shaking, his chest tight. He puffed anxiously on his cigarette, trying to calm his rattled nerves.

Bender thought about last Saturday. He remembered trudging across the football field, raising his fist triumphantly in the air. Now the memory made him feel like a chump. In the end, nothing had changed. Only Allison had any honesty and integrity. The others had all turned out to be full of shit, just like he had predicted.

Bender stopped and smoked one last joint with the stoners who hung out under the bleachers. Some of them were friends of his; others were people he barely even knew. Still, on a day like this, all men were his brothers. Today he wanted to revel in his freedom. The future was uncertain, but he was excited about the possibilities it held for him. He was ready to make his mark on the world.

Or so he thought.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Claire stared out the jetliner's porthole window, marveling at the cloud formations thousands of feet below. She had always found air travel exciting—since she could afford to fly first class—but this trip was different. She was going home to Shermer, Illinois, to bury John Bender, the "bad boy" she had fallen for so hard in high school. It had been her senior year, and she had been under enormous stress about graduation, getting into the right college, and lots of other things. Plus, her parents had been fighting more than usual. They had finally gotten divorced during her sophomore year in college. Her father was still trying to buy her love, and her mother still treated her like an uninvited guest whenever she visited—which wasn't very often. Fortunately she had a good job with great pay and no longer had to rely on her parents for money. She was making it all on her own.

_All on my own ..._

Claire had thrown herself into her work because staying busy kept her mind focused on the present. She had a tendency to dwell on the past. Sometimes she wondered how different her life would be today if she had been strong enough to give Bender a fair shot. She would have had to endure the social ostracization of her peers, but only for a couple of months. She could have put up with it until graduation, if only she hadn't been so afraid to take a chance. She had dated several men since leaving Shermer, but none of them had ever made her feel the way she felt when she and Bender made out in the closet during detention. She still had her old diamond earring. She wondered if Bender had kept the one she gave him on that portentous Saturday so long ago.

Claire sighed. She was twenty-eight, single, and childless. Sure, her professional life was successful, but her personal life was practically nonexistent. Her friends were constantly trying to fix her up with blind dates, but she declined most offers. She found herself comparing all the other guys to Bender, which wasn't fair, to them or to herself.

Claire's loneliness was all-encompassing. Too often she had to take pills just so she could sleep at night. She knew it was unhealthy, but she had to sleep. Her queen-size bed was covered in decorative pillows. Her stuffed animals were her only nocturnal companions. Amazingly, some people thought she lived a carefree life of fun, sex, and entertainment. She put on a brave front for her co-workers, but the truth was, she suffered from clinical depression. She was even considering going to see a psychologist, although she doubted she would be able to open up and discuss her personal problems with a stranger. On the other hand, she had no real friends to talk to; at least a psychologist would be ethically and morally bound not to betray Claire's confidence—unlike the vapid gossip-mongers whom she had once considered her closest friends.

Claire had changed a lot since high school. Her red hair was longer, spilling down over her shoulders, and she had put on weight in all the right places. She was a voluptuous, long-legged, sloe-eyed beauty, a natural-born heartbreaker. But despite her healthy outward appearance, she felt like she was slowly dying inside. She was still riddled with insecurities about her personal flaws. She also wanted to have children, before it was too late. She would be thirty in a couple of years—another depressing milestone in her desolate, lonesome life.

Claire tossed down another complimentary champagne cocktail. She knew it was a bad idea to drink when she was on Xanax, but she couldn't help it. She needed something to take away the stress. She felt like she was carrying a great weight that was slowly crushing her, a little more each day, inexorably grinding her down. She felt tired all the time. She didn't know the proper medical term for it, but she was experiencing the onset of emotional exhaustion. All those years she spent trying to please her parents, her friends, and live up to her own lofty expectations, had taken an enormous toll on her psyche.

She leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes, trying to still her troubled thoughts. She drifted off to sleep thinking about Bender. After all these years, she had never forgotten about him.

xxx

It was a relatively short flight from Lincoln, Nebraska, to Chicago. At least Andy didn't have to change planes at O'Hare International Airport, like he had so many times in the past. He had gotten his ride, a full athletic scholarship to the University of Nebraska. Nebraska had great athletic facilities and was one of the top wrestling programs in the country, although all other sports were overshadowed by the mighty Cornhuskers football team. After graduating with a bachelor's degree in sports medicine, he had been offered a job as an assistant wrestling coach. He was making quite a name for himself in the world of collegiate wrestling, and he dreamed of becoming a head coach eventually. He hoped it would be at Nebraska, but if the right opportunity presented itself somewhere else, he would jump on it. He had to take advantage of every chance to move up, or he might miss his one-and-only shot at something bigger and better. He worked in a highly competitive environment, where his professional reputation was in constant jeopardy. He had to prove himself over and over again. Coaches who rested on their own laurels were soon standing in the unemployment line, desperately hoping for one last opportunity to stay in the game. Andy wasn't about to let that happen. He had a family now, and responsibilities. Lots of responsibilities.

The head coach and the athletic director had been very understanding. Andy had told a small lie: he said that one of his cousins had died. He wasn't sure he would have been able to get time off for a friend's funeral, but he knew they couldn't deny him if it was a death in the family. Cousins counted as family, so naturally they had granted his request. He felt guilty about lying, but he had only done what he thought was necessary. He couldn't miss Bender's funeral. This might be the only time the surviving members of The Breakfast Club would ever get together again. He had to go. If it had been his funeral, he would have wanted the others to pay their last respects, maybe even heal some old wounds. It would be a cathartic experience, or so he fervently hoped.

Andy had never forgiven himself for snubbing everyone from The Breakfast Club except Claire on that Monday after detention. He had even taken Claire to the prom. They made a wonderful couple, the king and queen of their senior prom. They were just friends, though, but at least they were able to talk to each other publicly without upsetting the delicate status quo at Shermer High School. They were seniors, soon to go their separate ways. College awaited them both. They had helped one another get through the last couple months of high school, but after that, they called each other less and less. They still exchanged Christmas cards, but that was about it.

Andy's wife knew all about The Breakfast Club, and the tangled nature of his relationships with both Claire and Allison, respectively. She was fine with it. She loved Andy, and she trusted him. He had always been a faithful husband to her, and he treated her gently. He was even somewhat of a romantic, in his own goofy way. They had a good marriage, and they were happy together. They had been blessed with two healthy children. He felt humbled because he had it so good. He tried to picture what life after The Breakfast Club had been like for Bender. He sincerely hoped Bender had found some happiness during his tragically short life.

He couldn't afford to fly first class: he had to make do with the cramped accommodations in the cheap seats. The flight was so short, the flight attendants barely had time to serve everyone aboard one beverage apiece before the aircrew began preparations for landing.

Andy got his suitcase from the luggage carousel at the baggage claim for his flight's assigned gate and stepped outside, looking for a ride that wouldn't cost him a small fortune. After inquiring how much a cab ride would cost, he signed up for the next available shuttle bus. He would have to wait a while, and ride the streets of Chicago in a van with a bunch of strangers, but it was a hell of a lot cheaper than a taxi. It also gave him time to think about the past, about what might have been. He sat down on a concrete bench and rested his hands on his knees. The mist of time evaporated like morning dew, and he remembered that day like it was last week, instead of ten long years in the past.

Remembering how he had been unwilling to risk the deprecations of his peers made Andy feel ashamed and humiliated again. Granted, he had only known Allison for a short time, and he hadn't really known that much about her, but he had been captivated by her, for some inexplicable reason. Maybe it was because she was the exact opposite of all the other girls he had dated over the years. Or maybe it was how she had seen right through his bullshit—just like Bender saw through Claire's bullshit.

At times like this Andy felt the larger-than-life presence of his father, urging him on, berating him, pushing him ever further. In retrospect, Andy realized he had benefited from his father's forcing him to excel. It had given him self-confidence and taught him the value of hard work and giving your best effort, the basic tools he needed to succeed in life. He just wished he hadn't been such a coward when it came to Allison. He loved his wife and children, and he considered himself very lucky to have them in his life. Still, a part of him couldn't help but imagine what his life would have been like, if he had only had the balls to stand up to his friends and tell them that he liked Allison, and if anyone had a problem with that, they could go fuck themselves, as far as he was concerned. That was what he should have done that Monday morning in front of Shermer High School, when he looked into her eyes for the last time. But he didn't, and now he would never know what might have been.

Finally the shuttle bus arrived, disgorging passengers from its sliding door. Andy waited his turn in line and took a seat in the middle of the van. As the van moved away from the curb and drove off, he gazed up at the cloudy sky, remembering the first time he had really looked at Allison, seen the person hiding beneath the homeless bag-lady exterior she wielded as a shield against a world that seemed pitiless and malignant to her. That vulnerability of hers that could change in an instant to steely resolve and defiance. She was an enigma to him. He had never known anyone else like her, before or since. He was married now, and he loved his wife, yet he had never forgotten about Allison. Her natural beauty and gamine personality were an intoxicating combination that always left his head reeling, but he liked it. She was definitely one of a kind.

He wondered if she still had his state-champion wrestling patch.

xxx

Brian quite predictably had told no one he would be attending a funeral in Illinois this weekend. He taught his class lectures as usual, then he put it in his mandatory office hours time, when his students could see him and talk to him in the privacy of his office. If none of them wanted to talk, he could usually get most of his grading done for the weekend. However, this afternoon one of his students had chosen to confide in him. He tried to pay attention and not fidget as the student described his personal problems. Brian gave the young man the best advice he could think of, then he paced anxiously until his office hours were over. He bolted out of the building as fast as he could without drawing any undue attention to himself.

Brian had already arranged to leave his car at the airport in long-term parking, where it would be waiting when he returned from his trip—and what a trip it promised to be: he was going to watch John Bender get buried under six feet of Illinois dirt. For the first time in his life, Brian actually felt the cold, clammy hand of his own mortality squeezing his heart in its grip. He realized in stark terms that one day he would simply cease to exist, and there was no getting around it. It shook him. Logically he had always known he would die eventually, as did all other living things, sooner or later. However, this was the first time he had ever felt it in his gut. It was a visceral, nauseating sensation. The worst part was, you never knew when it was going to happen to you. You just got struck down one day, out of the clear blue. If you didn't die immediately, you at least knew you had drawn a virtual death sentence with certain medical conditions like cancer, AIDS, etc. But Bender had apparently been young and presumably still reasonably healthy. That was what disturbed Brian so much about the manner of Bender's death: it was seemingly so random. If he hadn't happened to have been on that one particular section of road at that one particular moment in time, he would still be alive today. Such thoughts scared the living shit out of Brian and had caused him to spend many sleepless nights pondering the meaning of it all.

Or wonder if there even was any meaning to it all.

Brian pushed away that train of thought. He knew the dark places thinking like that would take him. Like that time he had considered committing suicide by flare gun.

Brian smiled ruefully at the memory. What the hell had he been thinking? He realized now it had been a pathetic cry for help. If he had been serious about taking his own life, he could have easily concocted a fast-acting poison that would kill him almost immediately, with minimal pain and suffering. He knew enough chemistry to do all kinds of wild and crazy things, if he wanted to. He recalled an old folk saying: "Knowledge is power." He still believed there was a lot of truth in that statement.

MIT had been the ideal place for Brian. All the students were like him. The competition was fierce, but at least he didn't have to deal with steroidal jocks, stuck-up princesses, and money-stealing hoodlums. He just had to study his ass off, a skill he had long since mastered. He also didn't have his mother breathing down his neck all the time. She called a lot to check on his progress, of course, but at least he had some privacy, and he could arrange to spend his time according to his own priorities. He came out of his shell socially, and eventually he became quite popular by the time he was a senior. He belonged to numerous clubs and was recognized as one of the rising stars on campus. That was when he realized all the bullshit kids endured in high school, ended after graduation. The real world was so much different. He was able to remake his image from a pitiful geek into a cool guy, something he would never have thought possible back in high school. But now he had the benefit of perspective. He learned something new every day. That was the mystery of this mind-boggling universe. The vastness of space still amazed him. He wondered if space flight would ever become routine, like on all those science-fiction TV shows and movies he watched religiously.

As it was, air travel was a pain in the ass. The passengers were herded like cattle into large metal metal cylinders surrounded by volatile jet fuel. Air travel was much safer than driving, statistically speaking. Still, Brian always felt a little uneasy whenever he was aboard an aircraft during takeoff. Landing wasn't much better, but at least if you survived the landing, you were safely back on the ground again.

Brian decided to loosen up a bit, so he ordered a cocktail. He didn't have much tolerance for alcohol. The drink gave him a mild buzz, which was pretty much as close to drunk as he ever allowed himself to get. He closed his eyes, put on a set of earphones, twisted the dial until he found some music he liked, and remembered.

That Saturday in detention had been one of the strangest days in Brian's life. It was also the first time he had ever smoked marijuana. He still got high on occasion, but he was very discreet about it. Some of the students in the horticulture lab were growing extremely potent hydroponic weed that would melt your frontal lobe. There was a reason they called it "one-hitter quitter bud." One or two puffs from a small pipe were enough to keep Brian spaced out for an entire Saturday night. It also helped him to forget he was a young man sitting at home alone on a Saturday night, instead of taking some classy woman out on a date. Everyone had their own coping mechanisms, and that was his, for better or worse.

It was difficult to believe Brian had briefly considered a guy like John Bender to be his friend. Bender was a hoodlum, a street thug, a drug user, and one of the most notorious "bad boys" at Shermer High School. Of course, Brian knew much of Bender's legendary toughness was just an act, a suit of armor he wore to protect himself against a world that had never wanted or accepted him. It was a mask, like the masks Brian used to wear to please his parents, his teachers, or any authority figure—even good old Dick Vernon, the irascible, loquacious assistant vice-principal who prowled the halls of Shermer High, his merciless eyes scanning back and forth like a sniper seeking targets. Brian wondered if Vernon had retired yet, or if he was still babysitting a bunch of juvenile delinquents every Saturday: drinking bad coffee, eating stale junk food from the vending machines in the teachers' lounge, and "cracking skulls." What a dreary life that must have been. No wonder Vernon was such an asshole.

Brian felt like the biggest asshole in the whole world. After he had given that speech in detention, vowing he would never ignore the others because it was "real shitty," he had been just as shallow and gutless as Andy and Claire. The others just didn't understand the pressure bearing down on him. Brian was the youngest member of the club, and he had skipped a grade. He had taken a test that allowed him to bypass his freshman year and still get full credit for it academically. He only spent three years in high school. He had been in the same grade as Allison, but a year younger. He was still only sixteen years old when he graduated valedictorian from Shermer High School. It was tough making new friends when you were considered a nerd. He had been so afraid of losing all his old friends that he had played it safe instead. He had regretted it ever since.

At the time Brian had seen Bender and Andy as essentially the same: another pair of alpha males pushing him around to assert their masculine primacy. As a designated nerd, Brian had been subjected to many indignities—most of them minor, but emasculating nonetheless. Now, looking back, he wished he hadn't taken so much shit from other people back then, but it was too late to worry about that. Right now he was on his way to bury a part of his past.

He just hoped he would be able to look the other surviving members of The Breakfast Club in the eye.

The great plains of the Midwest sprawled thirty-five thousand feet below Brian. The aircraft began a slow but steady turn, maneuvering for the authorized approach angle to O'Hare. His ears popped as the airliner descended to a lower altitude.

Brian stiffened, bracing himself for a crash landing. It was a wholly involuntary act on his part, but it made him feel ashamed anyway. He was not afraid of flying, but he was irrationally terrified of crashing. He gripped the sides of his seat so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He didn't relax again until the aircraft had touched down and begun taxiing toward its assigned terminal. Only then did his heartbeat return to normal, and he finally stopped sweating. It made him feel like a coward. He hung his head in silent disgrace.

After retrieving his bags, he picked up a car from the rental agency and checked into a hotel near the airport. He unpacked his stuff and arranged it neatly in the closet and bureau. He had a quiet meal in the hotel dining room before retiring to his room early. After a hot shower, he put on his pajamas and got into bed, tuning the TV to one of the local stations, hoping to catch the weather report for tomorrow. The big day.

The day they planted Bender's lifeless corpse.

xxx

Bender and Allison were the only Breakfast Club members who stayed in Shermer after high school. Because of this, they shared a special bond. Their friendship had been made stronger because each knew no one else whom they could trust. Even later on, after they had gone their separate ways, Allison would still get a Christmas card—and more importantly, a birthday card—from Bender. He seemed to move an awful lot, judging by the different addresses on the postcards she periodically received. That gave her yet another reason to worry about Bender. No matter where he went, he seemed either unable or unwilling to put down roots.

Allison went to the local community college for two years, getting most of the basic classes out of the way. She didn't have the grades for a scholarship, and she refused to ask her parents to pay her college tuition. She was able to save a lot of money by taking accredited courses at Shermer Community College. During that time she and Bender bonded, both still pining for the people who had jilted them. They were a lot alike in many ways. Both had no siblings; both felt unloved and unwanted by their own parents; both did outrageous things to draw attention to themselves; and both were compulsive liars. Allison knew most of Bender's darkest, innermost secrets, and he knew most of her private thoughts and feelings. They had become intimates, the basket case and the criminal.

Bender even admitted to Allison that his father hadn't burned him with a cigar. The cigar burn had been a dare, a contest of sorts, to find out who was the toughest. One night he and some of his drinking buddies had gotten shit-faced and decided to test each other's manhood by seeing who could tolerate the pain of the burning cigar tip the longest. Bender had won the contest, despite the searing agony of the cigar's glowing ember. He won thirty bucks for this display of manly fortitude. The money was since long gone, but the scar would remain forever, a reminder of the foolishness of trying to act tough when he was drunk. He had made Allison swear to secrecy, and she had never betrayed him.

Same with those pictures of girls in his wallet. The day class pictures were delivered, he always asked every pretty girl he saw for one of her small pictures. Bender kept them in his wallet to impress other people. He had actually dated a few of the girls he had pictures of, but most had never gone out with him, and probably never would. Nevertheless, Allison could respect that sort of trickery. It showed cunning and initiative, qualities she had previously doubted Bender possessed. He was smarter than he let on—she had already figured out that much about him.

Allison knew the real story by now. Bender's dad was an abusive drunk who smacked his wife and son around when he was pissed off, but he wasn't quite the ogre Bender had made him out to be. Still, it was a scary way to grow up, tip-toeing around, praying you didn't do anything that would set him off. His mother used to stick up for him, but she had grown tired of the beatings, and now she pretty much stayed out of it when her husband went after their son. He was a big boy: he could take care of himself. Bender told Allison he wished his parents would ignore his very existence—like her parents—and just leave him the fuck alone.

Bender had gotten to know Allison well, too—or at least, he thought he had. She was so secretive and hard to read, so unlike most of the other girls he had known. Even Claire didn't seem as mysterious to him as Allison. She was incomprehensible and totally unpredictable—even for a woman. He saw how she was as full of shit as he was, pretending not to want attention, but constantly pulling pranks in order to draw other people's attention. Feeling sick to his stomach, Bender realized Allison was just as furious as he was. Allison's parents made her feel like she was nothing. That was exactly how Bender's parents made him feel, especially his dad. He used to have pity for his mother, but now he blamed her for staying with the bastard, instead of taking him and going some place far away, where his brutish father could never find them. At least Allison had a decent place to live, and plenty of food to eat. Her parents were rich—not rich like Claire's family, but very comfortable. Their nest egg was cozy. Allison had been an unplanned detour in their professional careers, and they had always treated her with a sort of distant reserve, like a bastard child they had been stuck with by some anonymous stranger. The more she tried to get their attention, the more they ignored her. Like Bender, she had long since given up trying to please her parents, doing her own thing instead. Her parents didn't care what she did, so long as she didn't bother them with her silly little adolescent problems. They were too busy with their careers to communicate with their only child and daughter. They were oblivious to how much she had blossomed, and how much she had changed her appearance after meeting Andy. Her house was much like she described it: big, cold, and empty. Allison felt like an unwelcome intruder in her own home. Bender knew that feeling all too well.

They were both angry at this cruel, unjust world, but their reactions were different. Bender directed his anger outwardly, at other people. Allison inflicted her anger inwardly, upon herself. That was why she got so depressed sometimes, she cut herself. Bender had been horrified when she explained to him how she had gotten those scars on her arm. She made him swear not to tell anyone. People already thought she was freaky enough as it was.

Allison lit another cigarette and sipped her vodka. She knew she was abusing her body, but it was worth it to dull the pain caused by thinking about those old times she and Bender shared so long ago. He had been like a big brother to her, and now he was dead. A part of her had died with him. She felt empty inside, cold and lifeless, like the surface of the moon.

She also realized something else: she wasn't living; she was merely existing. She hadn't even dated anyone yet. Several people had offered to fix her up, but she was afraid. Afraid that if her heart was broken again, it just might die altogether.

That scared her more than anything.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

After downing four cups of coffee, Allison was as ready as she was ever going to be to face this dismal day. Since she lived in Chicago, it was less than an hour's drive to the Bender household in Shermer. She knew the way so well, she drove on autopilot, her mind distracted by a torrent of memories. Allison hadn't seen Mrs. Bender since that cold, wintry day they buried Mr. Bender. Her only child hadn't shown up for his own father's funeral. Bender was still too bitter, the wounds too fresh and raw.

Bender didn't have much choice this time. He was the guest of honor at this funeral. Such thoughts made Allison feel even more depressed. She took a nip from a bottle of vodka stashed in her voluminous handbag. The acrid burn of the alcohol trickling down her throat into her belly made her feel a little better. At such a grievous time as this, she usually drank until she couldn't feel anything, but not today. Today she needed to have her shit together, for Bender's sake. She owed him at least that much.

The house looked much as it always had: like it was about to collapse from sheer exhaustion. At least Mrs. Bender had cleaned up the yard. A junkman had come to haul away the rusting cars and automobile parts. Mrs. Bender had started a small garden. It wasn't much, but it was a cheery splash of color in an otherwise dreary landscape. Tending that garden had been enormously therapeutic for her. Allison resisted the urge to break out her sketchpad and begin drawing. She made a mental snapshot of the image and filed it away in her head.

Allison mounted the cracked concrete steps and knocked on the dilapidated screen door. After about a minute Mrs. Bender opened the door. She moved slowly, like one of those zombies in the horror movies, shuffling her feet instead of raising her legs. Her eyelids drooped over red, glazed eyes underscored by black pouches. The lines in her face looked like canyons. She was tired and grief-stricken, and appeared to have aged at least ten years. Her hair, pulled back in a scraggly bun, was almost all gray now. The flesh on her face hung in loose flaps, like batter oozing from a griddle.

"Allison, my dear," she wheezed with the phlegmy rattle of a long-term smoker. "So good to see you again." She unlatched the screen door and allowed Allison to enter. Allison stepped inside and embraced Mrs. Bender tightly. Mrs. Bender felt smaller, as though she had shrunk since their last meeting. "I'm so sorry," Allison sobbed, unable to hold back her tears any longer. They hugged each other tightly.

Mrs. Bender shuffled to the kitchen table and eased down onto a chair. "Have a seat." She pushed an ashtray in Allison's direction. "Smoke?"

Allison sat down and removed a cigarette from her pack. "Sure." She accepted a light from Mrs. Bender's Zippo lighter. "Thank you."

Allison puffed raggedly on her cigarette. She was worn out, running on nothing but caffeine and adrenaline. Mentally she felt fatigued. "What a night," she said in a low voice, resting her forehead on the palm of her hand. She looked compassionately at Mrs. Bender. "How about you ... How're you holding up?"

Mrs. Bender laughed. It was a dry sound, deep and guttural, like the cackle of a witch. She didn't look like a witch, though. She just looked like a tired old woman. She held Allison's hand and squeezed gently. "I'll live." She blinked away tears. "I'm all alone in the world. I'm used to it by now. It's been three years since I even heard from my Johnny."

Allison frowned empathetically and touched Mrs. Bender's shoulder.

"Did you talk to him recently—before the accident, I mean?"

Allison's eyes were red and puffy. She shook her head. "No, but I got a postcard from him about six months ago. He said he was living in Seattle. I had no idea he was back in Shermer until the, uh, accident."

A frown creased Mrs. Bender's forehead, highlighting the deep lines around her mouth and eyes. "Damn. I was wondering if you knew how he was. I hate to think my little boy Johnny died without anything in this rotten old world. Did he have any money, or a job? Did he have friends—real friends, I mean, not drinking buddies. Did he have a place to live, or was he sleeping in a mission shelter, or maybe under some overpass like a bum?" She put a hand over her heart and closed her eyes. "I'm all right. It's just, I have so many unanswered questions, you know?"

"I know, me, too. John was my best friend in the whole world."

Mrs. Bender flicked ash from her cigarette into an ashtray. "So how come nothing ever happened between you two? You're a very beautiful girl ... I can't believe that horny son of mine never tried anything with you." She smiled to take the sting out of the words, but her eyes stared unblinkingly at Allison.

Allison shrugged. The subject made her uneasy, but she felt Mrs. Bender had a right to know—especially at a time like this.

"The chemistry just wasn't right," she said after a moment's reflection. "See, the thing is, I was still in love with Andy; John was still in love with Claire. We were stuck on the people who abandoned us. Besides, what we both really needed at the time was a friend, someone you can count on. We were friends. I guess that's why we never tried to pursue a romantic relationship. We were too afraid of losing our friendship to risk it."

Mrs. Bender nodded. "Lovers come and go, but real friends are hard to find. Ain't it the truth. Thanks for leveling with me. I know it was a tough question to throw at you, out of the clear blue like that."

Allison smiled ironically. "Guess I know where John gets—got that from." She lowered her eyes and cleared her throat. "Sorry."

Mrs. Bender sighed. "It's okay. Hell, it's hard for me to think of him in the past tense, too. He was always so full of life, you know?" She grabbed her cane and rose wearily to her feet. "I don't give a rat's ass how early it is, I need a drink. How about you?"

"Okay," Allison said, "I've got a flask of vodka."

"You want some orange juice to go with that?"

"Why not. Breakfast of champions, right?"

"God damn right."

Mrs. Bender made herself a Bloody Mary with V-8 juice and gave Allison a clean glass and a carton of chilled orange juice. Allison fixed herself a Screwdriver.

Mrs. Bender set her drink on the kitchen table and sat down, wincing in pain. "Oh, I'm so sick of this god damn arthritis! The doctor gave me some pills, but they don't get rid of that deep-down pain. It's always worse in the wintertime."

Allison sipped her drink. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Mrs. Bender patted Allison's hand. "You're a sweet girl to be here for me at a time like this. Thank you so much."

"It's the least I could do." Allison blew her bangs out of her face. "John was the best friend I ever had, my only real friend."

"I always hoped he'd find a nice girl and settle down, have a family. I used to think a good woman could've saved him—you know, keep him on the straight and narrow path."

Allison took another sip of her drink. "He was self-destructive by nature. So am I. We were a lot alike, in many ways. He helped me out when I was at the lowest point in my entire life. I think I helped him, too. God knows I tried." She sighed. "He didn't start going downhill till I went to college in Nevada. I can't help feeling like it's somehow my fault. Maybe if I'd stayed here, instead of abandoning him like everybody else, he wouldn't have gone into such a tailspin. Maybe he'd still be alive. Who knows."

Mrs. Bender touched Allison's arm. "Hey now, you can't blame yourself for what happened. You were his friend. He stayed in touch with you over the years, didn't he?"

Allison nodded. "Yeah. I used to get a postcard whenever he moved to a different city. He moved around a lot."

"But he never forgot about you. You must've meant an awful lot to him, to get such special treatment. He wasn't much on writing letters. I hardly ever got any letters or postcards from him. But, I suppose he wanted to forget this place. I can't blame him for that. Still, after his father passed, he could've moved back home, if he wanted. I sure could've used the rent money."

"John loved you. I know: he told me so. He said he used to be mad at you, but he forgave you. He wished he did more to defend you from—well, you know. But he did love you. He just wanted to forget about all the bad times. I guess that's why he stayed away."

"Thank you, dear. I want to believe that, I really do."

"It's true! I just wish he'd let me know he was back in Shermer. He knew how to get a hold of me in Chicago: I sent him my address and phone number every time I got a postcard from him. I remember thinking he must've fit right in up there in Seattle, with all the grunge rockers in their denim jackets and plaid shirts and long-johns and wool knit caps. John invented the grunge look ten years before it became popular."

"The funeral parlor handled all the arrangements," Mrs. Bender said. "The director's real nice. When my husband died, I went ahead and bought plots for the rest of us. The family package was a lot cheaper than buying plots individually, and that way we could all be buried together. I just never thought my Johnny would go to his grave before me." She gnashed her teeth. "It's a terrible thing, when a mother outlives her own child. Her _only_ child."

Allison rubbed her eyes. "Hey, what say we get some breakfast? We need something to get us going—besides booze, that is."

Mrs. Bender scratched her head. "I think there's some bacon and eggs in the fridge. I can cook us up something."

"No, please, don't bother." Allison stood, her legs trembling. "I passed a McDonald's a few blocks back. I'll get us both a big breakfast."

"Are you sure it's no trouble?"

"No trouble at all."

Mrs. Bender reached for her purse. "Here, let me give you some money."

"That's okay, I've got plenty of money."

"Are you sure? At least let me pay for my half—"

Allison shook her head. "My treat. I insist."

Mrs. Bender's shoulders sagged. "Well, all right then, since you insist."

"Juice or coffee?"

"Coffee, please."

"Okay. I'll be right back."

xxx

Allison started her car and drove away, relieved to be out of that house. She liked Mrs. Bender, but being inside Bender's house had unleashed a mental montage of random memories. She breathed deeply and slowly, trying to stave off the onset of a panic attack.

Allison saw the McDonald's on the next corner. She entered the parking lot and went through the drive-through lane. She bought two breakfast meals and two large coffees. Ordinarily she would have chosen orange juice instead, but today she needed a caffeine boost. She saw a payphone on the side of the building and pulled into an adjacent parking space. She wanted to call home and check her answering machine for new messages.

Claire had called to confirm that she was in town, and left the numbers for both her hotel and her personal mobile phone. Allison put more change in the payphone and called Claire's mobile phone. Claire answered after a few rings.

"Hello?"

"Hi. It's Allison."

"Oh, hi! You got my message?"

"Yeah, I just checked my answering machine. Where are you?"

"I'm at the Airport Marriott in Chicago. Where are you?"

"I'm at a McDonald's down the road from Mrs. Bender's house. I drove in from the city this morning to help her get things ready for tomorrow."

"Oh, good. That's good." Claire sounded distracted. She cleared her throat. "Um, look, Allison, I don't know what to say. I'm sorry about what happened in high school."

"Claire, you don't have to—"

"No, I want to say it. I'm sorry I blew you off like that. I never should've treated you that way. It was a shitty thing to do, and I've regretted it ever since. I'm so sorry."

Allison closed her eyes. "It's okay, Claire. I accept your apology."

"So you forgive me?"

"Yes, I forgive you."

"You're not just saying that?"

"No, I mean it. It was a long time ago; we were just kids. I got over it. I guess everybody else did too, more or less."

"What about John?" Claire's voice was almost a whisper. "Did he h-hate me?"

"He never hated you. He was out-of-his-mind in love with you."

"What about you, do you still hate me?"

"No, I don't hate you. Oh, I was pretty pissed off when it first happened, but that was a long time ago. I just wish we could've been friends."

"Me, too."

"You know, I missed you, believe it or not."

"Really?" Claire was touched.

Yeah. I never had a sister, or any close friends—except for John."

The mere mention of Bender's name caused a disconcerting pause in their conversation. They felt the weight of all the years that had passed pressing down on them. Bender's death was still shocking and unsettling. Claire was the first to break the silence.

"So how's work going for you?"

"Good. I really enjoy what I do."

"Must be nice," Claire muttered.

"Why, what's wrong?"

"Alli, you wouldn't believe how competitive the vicious bitches I have to work with are. They'll stab you in the back in a heartbeat, if they think it'll help their career."

"It's a shitty old world."

"Tell me about it. You know, it would be so nice to have another woman I could talk to, someone I know I can trust. It's hard to find people like that."

"It sure is."

Claire cleared her throat nervously. "Um, look, I know this isn't exactly the best time for this, but I really need to know something."

"What?"

"Do you think it's too late for us to be friends?" There was a note of desperation in Claire's voice that troubled Allison. "Do you think, maybe we could start fresh?"

Allison ran a hand through her hair and sighed. "Oh, wow, Claire ... I don't know. Hey look, don't worry about the, uh, service. Everybody'll be on their best behavior, including me."

"I'm serious," Claire persisted. "Do you think maybe there's a chance we could still be friends?"

Allison hung her head. "I don't know, honestly. Maybe ... we'll see. Okay?"

"Why don't we start tonight?"

"Look, Claire, I've been up since yesterday; I'm tired and depressed."

"That's exactly why you need to have a good time tonight."

Allison scrubbed a hand over her eyes. "Listen, honey—"

"Don't 'honey' me. You sound like my father." Claire sighed. "Look, I just want to go out someplace where we can eat and hang out and talk, that's all."

Allison bit the inside of her cheek. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well, I know a great sushi place not far from here. Tell you what: when you get back in town, call me on my mobile phone, and I'll come pick you up."

"You rented a car?"

"No, I rented a limousine. It's got a bar and everything. So give me a call later, okay?"

"Okay."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Okay. See ya, Alli."

"See ya, Claire."

Allison hung up the payphone, torn by conflicting emotions. She wasn't sure if she could still be friends with Claire after all these years. But she could at least try, if only for one evening. It might even restore some karmic balance to the whole convoluted mess of their relationship.

She wondered if there really was an afterlife, and if Bender was watching her right now. The thought gave her a chill. She got back in her car and drove off, no longer hungry for the huge, greasy breakfast in a paper bag lying on the seat beside her.

xxx

To her surprise, once Allison started eating, she finished the whole meal. She hadn't realized before just how hungry she was.

"Good god, girl," Mrs. Bender said, "you must've been starving!"

Allison wiped her hands and mouth with a paper napkin. "I needed to put something in my stomach besides vodka and diet pills."

After eating breakfast, they drove to the funeral home to discuss the final details for Bender's memorial service. Allison had only one request—a demand, actually.

Allison gave the funeral director a cassette-tape recording of "Funeral for a Friend" by Elton John. "Play this last," she said, "after everyone's done talking. He asked me to make sure you play this song."

The funeral director examined the tape uncertainly. "Do you have any objections?" he asked Mrs. Bender.

"No, of course not. This young lady was my son's best friend. If she says he wanted us to play that song in remembrance of him, why, that's good enough for me."

The funeral director smiled accommodatingly. "Very well, ma'am. I'll handle it personally."

On the ride back, Mrs. Bender asked Allison about Bender's last request. "So, my Johnny really talked to you about his own funeral?"

Allison lit a cigarette, feeling sleepy. She stifled a yawn with her knuckles. "Yeah."

"Christ, that's so morbid!"

"It was years ago, back when we were still sharing an apartment. He told me one time he didn't think he'd live to see thirty. He made me promise to do two things if he died before me. One was play that song for him."

"What was the other thing?"

Allison cracked open her window and flicked cigarette ash into the cold air whistling outside the car. "Get The Breakfast Club back together one last time."

"What's that?"

Allison explained the significance of that special Saturday that no one who was there would ever forget. She even admitted the real reason why she had been sent to Saturday detention: she had cut her Thursday classes and skipped school to hang out in the park, drawing on her sketchpad and breathing the fresh, clean air. Allison had never told anyone that before, not even Bender. It was one of the few secrets she had kept from him. She enjoyed being an enigma. That was the reason she told so many outrageous lies. The sad truth was, her life was very dull and boring. Marijuana, vodka, and a hyper-active imagination helped her escape the tedium of her existence. Diet pills were for those days when she was so lethargic and depressed, she couldn't get out of bed otherwise. Valiums were for panic attacks, and those long, lonesome nights when she couldn't sleep because she had no one to keep her warm. She mostly drank or got high only on weekends. She didn't like working with a hangover. The weekends were the worst, when she had so much free time on her hands. She was all right when she was working. Being around children really lifted her spirits. Yoga and meditation helped energize her and alleviated some of her free-floating anxiety.

They ate a light lunch and watched soap operas on the television in the living room. Allison fell asleep lying on the couch. Mrs. Bender covered Allison with a quilt blanket to keep her warm. After a while Mrs. Bender dozed off while sitting upright in her rickety recliner, bathed in the flickering glow of the television set.

xxx

Allison woke up about five o'clock, feeling sluggish, with a headache pounding behind her eyeballs. She swallowed two gelatin capsules and drank a glass of water. That seemed to perk her up a bit.

"Thank you," she gasped, gripping the medication bottle Mrs. Bender had given her.

"Those are prescription pain pills," Mrs. Bender said. "Got codeine in 'em. That ought to get rid of your headache."

"I hope so." Allison massaged her temples, then looked at her watch. She tapped her fingers nervously on the arm of the couch. "I need to make a call. Is it okay if I use your phone?"

"Sure, help yourself."

"Thanks." Allison dug through her handbag for the slip of paper with Claire's phone number written on it. She lit a cigarette, then dialed the number.

Claire answered on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Hey Claire, it's Allison."

"Oh, hi! Where are you?"

"I'm still over here in Shermer with Mrs. Bender. We've been getting stuff ready for tomorrow."

"That's so nice of you to help her at a time like this."

"It's the least I can do. I'm the only one who still lives in this area."

"Oh, right. Well, do you want me to come pick you up?"

"I don't know. I'll need my car tomorrow."

"Just leave it there ... if that's okay. You can catch a ride with me to Shermer in the morning."

Allison closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead, trying to think. The plan would save her gas money, plus wear-and-tear on her car. "Okay, that'll work." She told Claire the address. "You've never been here before, have you?"

"No."

"Well, now you can finally meet John's mom."

"Um, okay ... great. I'll see you in a little while. 'Bye."

"Good-bye." Allison hung up the phone and sat down beside Mrs. Bender on the couch. "That was Claire. She's gonna pick me up and take me back to the city for the night. I'll just leave my car here and catch a ride back with her in the morning. Is that okay with you?"

"Sure." Mrs. Bender lit a cigarette and exhaled slowly. "So, this Claire ... She's the one my Johnny was so head-over-heels in love with?"

Allison nodded.

"I see." Mrs. Bender pressed her lips together tightly. "Well, I don't know about you, sweetie, but I need another drink."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Claire arrived about an hour later, giddy from the champagne she drank along the way. She looked beautiful. Her ensemble was understated yet elegant, in that casual-but-classy way celebrities and movie stars had. With her long legs, good looks, and natural grace, Claire could have been a fashion model. She introduced herself to Mrs. Bender and extended her deepest condolences.

"Thank you, dear, you're very kind." Mrs. Bender looked Claire up and down with a critical eye. "You certainly are a pretty girl. I can see why my Johnny was so smitten with you."

Claire blushed. "Thank you. I just wish we didn't have to meet under these ... circumstances."

Mrs. Bender blinked away a tear. "Yes, I know. Well." She stood up slowly, leaning on her cane for support. "You girls go out and have a good time tonight, but be safe. Don't get in any trouble."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Bender," Claire said, "I hired a limousine with a sober, professional driver. We'll be fine."

Mrs. Bender, who had only ridden in a limousine once—the day of her husband's funeral—merely nodded.

Allison reached for her massive handbag. "Well, we'll see you in the morning. Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"I'll be fine." She touched Allison's arm. "You said my Johnny wanted you to get your friends back together again. Give it a chance. It'd be nice if something good came from all this."

Allison smiled sadly. She kissed Mrs. Bender's wrinkled cheek. "Good night."

"Good night, dear."

Claire waved from the doorway. "Good night, Mrs. Bender. It was so nice to finally meet you."

"Good night, Claire. It was nice meeting you, too. You girls have fun now."

"We will."

Allison buttoned her peacoat and followed Claire down the driveway to the limousine. "So ... Sushi, you said?"

Claire nodded, beaming. "You'll love it."

"I've had sushi before."

"Oh, good."

"Just one thing."

"What?"

"We have to stop for strawberry milkshakes."

"Why?"

"To dip our sushi in." Allison rolled her eyes, as though Claire's question were arbitrary and foolish.

Claire's eyes bulged. "Oh my god, I forgot how you are with food."

"You saw me eat lunch—once. That doesn't make you an expert on my dietary habits. Besides, that was ten years ago."

"I'm sorry," Claire said contritely. "I didn't mean to piss you off."

"Well, there's one way you can make it up to me."

"Anything. Whatever you want."

Allison's eyes gleamed. "Stop and get us both strawberry milkshakes first."

"I don't think they'll let us in the sushi bar with outside drinks."

"That's why we women have purses. I've got plenty of room in my bag for both our shakes."

Claire sighed. "All right, you win."

"Relax. What's the worst they can do, kick us out?"

Claire giggled. "I've never been kicked out of a sushi bar before."

"Well, there's a first time for everything."

xxx

Allison and Claire ate dinner at an expensive sushi bar near the airport. Allison was surreptitiously dipping her sushi in her strawberry shake. "Damn, this is good," she said. "Too bad this place is so expensive."

"I know, but I can't resist good sushi. Besides, it's great for your figure. Low-fat, low-cal. ... makes me feel a little less guilty about ordering this milkshake." Claire stared at Allison. "I can't believe you're dunking your sushi in a strawberry milkshake."

"It totally rocks. Try it."

Claire almost gagged at the thought. "No way." She drew the line at dunking.

"Just try it. One time."

Claire hung her head for dramatic effect. "Oh, all right. One time, that's it." After a brief pause to build up her courage, she stuck a forkful of California Roll in her milkshake and ate it.

Claire had never encountered such a bizarre combination of tastes. It was strange, but good. She relished the sensation of experiencing something new and different. It reminded her of when she was a little girl, and the world seemed full of incomprehensible wonders. She looked at Allison, and knew that Allison could read her thoughts. It was like they were tuned to the same wavelength of a radio band. They both blushed from the intimacy of the moment.

Claire sighed. It was nice hanging out with another woman with whom she wasn't in competition socially and professionally. Allison didn't care about Claire's clothes, or her car, or how big her paycheck was. Allison wouldn't betray Claire's trust and humiliate her by telling her secrets to the other girls at work. Claire was so sick of feeling alone. She wanted to have some real friends. The women she worked with were a lot like the rich, popular girls she remembered from high school. All they cared about was gossiping and back-biting and drooling over which of the popular boys they'd most like to fuck.

_Oh my god, was I really just like them?_ Claire felt superficial and vain. _How could I be like them? No wonder I'm all alone. I don't deserve to be happy._

"God! I can't believe the way I used to be in high school. John was so right: I was such a spoiled bitch. Daddy's little princess."

Allison touched Claire's arm. "Don't."

Claire was confused. "What?"

"Don't run yourself down with that negative bullshit."

Claire bowed her head. "I can't help it. Sometimes I feel like such a piece of shit."

"You're not a piece of shit, okay? Look, Claire: what's done is done. It was ten years ago. It was easier for me: I didn't have any friends. You were one of the most popular girls in school. I know it was hard for you." Allison blew her bangs out of her face. "It was probably even harder for Andy, with his psycho dad always up his ass."

Claire looked away, blinking back tears. "Sometimes I don't know if I deserve to have real friends and a man to love. I feel so alone sometimes."

"Everyone deserves to love and be loved," Allison declared. "Everyone deserves to be happy." She paused, then went on, "Even stuck-up rich bitches like you." She sipped her milkshake innocently.

Claire was momentarily shocked. Then she gave Allison a frosty smile. "You aren't so bad, either ... for a lunatic." She turned up her nose and fluttered her eyelashes.

Allison smiled impishly around the straw in her mouth. They both cracked up laughing.

Claire touched the sleeve of Allison's peacoat. It was a government-issue U.S. Navy woman's peacoat complete with military shoulder epaulets.

"I love this coat," Claire said admiringly. "Where did you get it?"

"Army-Navy store."

"So it's military surplus?"

Allison nodded.

Claire was astonished. "But it's gorgeous! I love those buttons with the anchors on them."

"It's a woman's coat, too." Some anonymous female sailor had once worn it while serving in the Navy. Nestled snugly in her peacoat, Allison had often wondered about the woman who had worn it before her. _Had she ever been at sea?_ Allison could only imagine what it was like to sail the ocean in a sleek gray warship, always on the alert for enemy airplanes and submarines, all guns manned and ready. However, the stern discipline of military authority was antithetical to her impulsive, free-spirited nature. She couldn't imagine herself living that kind of life. It would have killed something inside her, something rare and fragile.

"Well, it looks great on you. I see you've ditched the homeless-shelter look." Claire smirked. It wasn't quite as endearing as when Bender did it, but Allison smiled dutifully.

"I mean it. You look good, Alli. You've found a smart, presentable style that suits you."

"Thanks," Allison said, without feeling. She wasn't used to being complimented on her looks, and it always made her feel inexplicably suspicious. She still had a hard time trusting people. It was eerie, sitting and chatting with this familiar red-headed stranger. That Saturday in detention she felt like she had gotten to know Claire, but that was ten years ago. To Allison it seemed like everything was happening a little too fast for her to comprehend. She was just tired, mentally and physically drained from the emotional grind of the past few days.

"I like what you've done with your hair," Claire said, disrupting Allison's reverie. Allison's hair was a little shorter than Claire's, just touching her shoulders. She liked the way her skin tingled when her hair brushed against her bare shoulders.

"Thanks." Allison cleared her throat. "Your hair looks gorgeous, Claire. The way it tumbles over your shoulders like red silk ..." She had a sudden impulse to draw Claire, so she could capture the fiery hue of Claire's lustrous hair. "You look beautiful."

"Well, I don't know about beautiful, but—"

"Please! If John was here, he'd be drooling like one of Pavlov's dogs."

Claire laughed. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should, because it is."

Claire smiled. "Thanks. You look good, too."

"Thanks." Allison was still petite, with the lithe, slender physique of a dancer. Yoga had toned her muscles and firmed up her core. She still ate whatever she damn well pleased. With her high metabolism, maintaining her weight wasn't a problem. She had always been lean and trim.

"Seriously! You really gave yourself a nice makeover. I'm impressed."

Allison shrugged. "Well, I learned from the best. You taught me a lot that day in detention."

"Oh, it was nothing."

"No, seriously. I had to practice, and it took me a while to get it right, but if it wasn't for you, I probably still wouldn't know how to put on makeup or do my hair. I never did stuff like that with my mother, and I didn't have any friends to show me, so thank you."

Claire closed her eyes and laughed.

"What's so funny?"

Claire was reluctant to articulate her thoughts. She shook her head, unable to look directly into Allison's inquisitive eyes. "Oh—nothing."

Allison's jaw clenched. "Don't hold out on me now, Claire. This whole thing was your idea." She gave Claire "the look."

Claire couldn't bear Allison's penetrating stare. "Stop looking at me like that!" She smiled sagely. "I see you've still got that dirty look in your arsenal."

Allison nodded. "I only use it now when the situation calls for it."

Claire sighed dramatically. "Oh, all right! It's just that—well, I guess I don't what I was thinking. Okay?"

Allison propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on the palms of her hands. Her gimlet eyes bore holes into Claire's. "You're not getting off that easy. Go ahead, lay it on me. I can take it."

Claire hung her head. "I guess I was thinking that, I don't know, maybe you would've dyed your hair pink, or started dressing all goth, with black fingernail polish, or turned lesbian, or, I don't know. Something like that." She brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "It's nothing. Just forget it."

Allison remained silent, which only multiplied Claire's mental duress. "Look: I didn't even want to tell you, but you made me."

Allison chuckled.

"What the hell are you laughing at?"

"Oh, I outgrew that whole gloom-and-doom phase a few years ago. I've moved on to adulthood as best I can, just like everybody else—more or less."

Claire laced her fingers nervously. "So you're not mad at me?"

Allison shook her head. "You're not exactly what I expected, either."

"What, exactly, were you expecting?" Claire sipped her champagne cocktail while keeping a close eye on Allison.

Allison smiled diffidently. "Well, I figured you'd be working on your third marriage by now, while collecting alimony checks from your first two husbands." She squeaked. "I hope I didn't hurt your feelings."

"Nah, no problem."

"Are you sure?"

Claire patted Allison's hand and looked into her eyes. "Listen: I was honest with you, and you were honest with me. That's a good thing; it's something we can build on. It means we trust each other."

"You're right. Honesty _is_ the best policy."

"You sound like my grandmother, with all her old-fashioned sayings."

"Well, there's a lot of wisdom in some of those old sayings."

Claire stared at Allison. Something passed between them, an emotional and spiritual connection. Although unspoken, they both felt it. They were thinking about a certain Saturday they had spent together in detention at Shermer High School. It was an experience neither of them would ever forget.

"I felt real close to you then," Claire said sentimentally. "It was like you were my little sister."

Allison squirmed. "I know what you mean," she admitted. "I felt it, too—back then, and just now."

"Thanks, Alli." Claire started to bite her fingernail, then made a conscious effort to stop. She changed the subject. "So, what do you do in Chicago?"

"I work at a school for special-needs children—mostly autistic. We use art to try and get them to open up and express themselves, start communicating with other people. It really seems to help a lot of them."

"Oh, wow, that's nice. That's really nice."

"The money isn't great, but it pays enough for me to live on. I get something more than money out of it, though. Helping those poor little kids keeps me from going insane. It also reminds me that I have a lot to be thankful for, and no matter how bad I feel about my life sometimes, things could be a lot worse. It gives me perspective."

"Well, an artist needs perspective."

Allison rolled her eyes. "God, that's such a lame joke." She smiled anyway. "What about you, what do you do these days?"

"I'm a rising junior executive in the fashion industry—me and a bunch of other girls prettier and smarter than me. It's a real dog-eat-dog world, believe me. It looks so glamorous from the outside, but once you're on the inside, you see how ugly and shitty it really is. You see a lot of the worst in people, too. You know what I mean?"

"I think so. I'm glad I don't work in a place like that. Most of the people I work with are real dedicated to the kids."

"What about having children of your own?"

Allison sighed. "Well, I don't want to be a single mom: it's a bitch. I think it's bad for the child's development, too. I'd probably have to get married before I could even think about having a baby."

"So you never met anybody, you know, special?"

Allison shook her head. "Andy was the only guy that ever made me feel that way. And no, I'm not still carrying a torch for him after all these years—he's got a wife and family now—but I can't help the way I feel. It's not easy for me to meet people. You know how I am. I guess that's why I work with kids. They're a lot more honest than adults." She stirred her shake with her straw. "What about you?"

"Lots of guys, but nobody special. I don't even know if John was the one. We were too much like fire and ice, in a way. But you never know unless you try, and I didn't have the guts to try, so—" Claire dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. "Excuse me."

Allison stroked Claire's arm in tender affection. She had a natural instinct to help ease another person's pain. She considered it one of the nobler aspects of her character. "It's okay," she said soothingly. "We both missed out on our first loves, but the past is history. It doesn't matter now. The important thing is to remember John."

"You're right." Claire sniffled. "You know, I used to wonder what my life would be like if I'd married him."

"I used to have the same daydream about Andy."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah." Allison frowned, forming dimples on her chin. "I guess it was never anything more than just a fantasy. I've always had a very wild fantasy life."

"Well, it's Andy's loss."

"Thanks." Allison wiped away a tear with a clean napkin.

"What was John really like? You knew him better than anyone."

"Well, the truth is, underneath that phony tough-guy act of his, John was just a scared little boy who thought the world was full of monsters waiting to eat him alive. He told me once he felt doomed. He didn't even think he'd live to see thirty. Turns out he was right about that, after all."

"God, that's awful."

"John loved you, Claire. But he thought you'd have a better life if he stayed away. He said he'd only drag you down with him. That's why he never begged you for a second chance, even though he wanted to. He thought you were better off without him."

Claire was overwhelmed by a flood of ambivalent feelings. "He was quite a guy."

"He sure was." Allison scowled. "And now he's gone forever. That's so not fair. Life sucks, Claire. It's a rip-off."

"I know."

Allison started to cry. "I miss him so much."

"Me, too."

They embraced tightly, shedding tears for their fallen friend. As they held each other, they felt the years melt away, until they were back in high school. It only lasted for a few seconds, but during that brief moment they felt close again, like they had that Saturday in detention. They were emotionally drained by the intensity of reliving the past.

"See, this is what I mean," Claire said, composing herself. "Just us girls, hanging out. Being there for each other, you know?" She sighed. "I feel so close to you right now ... I don't want to lose this feeling again."

Allison scratched her chin. "It's gonna be hard for us to hang out together, with me living here and you living in New York. We're not even in the same time zone."

"Yeah, I know, but we've got each other's phone numbers now."

Allison nodded. "Yeah, we do." She moved the ashtray so she could reach it and lit a cigarette. "Okay then. Let's stay in touch."

"I'm serious, god damn it!"

"So am I."

"Okay." Claire smiled. "I'd like that." She lit a cigarette. "It means a lot to me, Alli." They held hands briefly.

"It means a lot to me too, Claire. I'm all alone too, you know."

"Someday you'll meet the right man."

"Someday we both will. And even if we don't, either way, it's gonna be one hell of a ride."

Claire raised her milkshake. "I'll drink to that."

They clunked their shakes together and sucked ice cream through their straws until their teeth ached from the cold.

xxx

Allison fell asleep in the limousine, so Claire had the chauffeur carry her up to Claire's suite at the hotel. He laid Allison down on a bed and departed after Claire tipped him. Claire called the hotel's concierge and requested a wake-up call at seven o'clock in the morning. That should give them plenty of time to get ready.

Claire still couldn't believe that Bender was dead. Numerous thoughts raced through her mind at once. Did he ever get married and have children? Did he still have his long hair, or did he go bald young? Did he ever let go of his seething anger and find some peace of mind? And, on a more personal note, did he keep that diamond earring she gave him all those years ago?

Claire was edgy and agitated. She went to the wet bar and fixed herself a Martini. She downed it in one gulp, hoping the alcohol would kick in fast and dull the pain in her heart. She gazed enviously at Allison, who was sleeping peacefully, utterly worn out after two frenetic, stressful days.

It took another two hours and five more Martinis before Claire was able to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

The early-morning wake-up call made Claire's throbbing head ache. She asked the hotel clerk to call back in half an hour, then rolled over and went back to sleep.

Allison went ahead and got up. After using the bathroom, she lit a cigarette and called home to check her answering machine. Brian and Andy had both left messages confirming they were in Chicago, and had thoughtfully included their contact information.

Allison called Brian first. He answered the phone after several rings, his voice thick with sleep. "Hello?"

"Brian?"

"Yeah."

"Hey, it's Allison."

"Oh, hi." He yawned. "What's up?"

"Just returning your call. How was your flight?"

"Okay, I guess."

"Well, the chapel service starts at two. Do you know how to get to Shermer Memorial Funeral Home?"

"Duh! I grew up there, remember?"

"I know, I know. I was just checking."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just tired. It's been a rough week."

"Tell me about it."

"Hey look, Allison, I'm sorry for—"

"It's okay," Allison cut him off. "What's done is done. The important thing is, we remember John today."

"Yeah." Brian sighed. "God, I still can't believe it!"

"I know," Allison said softly, a lump rising in her throat.

"I was dreaming that we were all together again—all of us, just like before."

A single teardrop traced down Allison's cheek. Her lower lip trembled. "Um, look, I'd better go," she said hastily. "I'll see you at the service. Do you need a ride?"

"No, I rented a car."

"Oh, good." Allison sniffled. Another tear was trickling down her face. "Well, I need to call Andy and make sure he's all right. We'll talk after the ... funeral. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure. I'd like that."

"Okay. See you later."

Allison hung up the phone and sat in silence for a while, summoning up all her courage. Even after all these years, the thought of Andy still made her heart flutter.

"Hey," Claire said from beneath her covers.

Allison squeaked. "I thought you were asleep!"

"I wish." Claire rolled over and propped herself up on an elbow. Her red hair was disheveled, her brown eyes bloodshot and bleary with fatigue. "You want me to call Andy?"

Allison inhaled a deep breath and sighed, shivering involuntarily. She nodded. "Maybe it'd be better if you call. I don't know if I can handle it right now."

Claire got out of bed and stepped into her slippers. She donned a terrycloth robe and walked over to Allison. She put her hand on Allison's shoulder and squeezed affectionately. "Okay, I'll do it."

"Thanks, Claire."

Claire smiled. "No problem."

xxx

Andy was taking a shower when the telephone in his motel room rang. He leaped out of the shower, whipped a towel around his waist, and ran to catch the phone, leaving a trail of water on the ragged carpet.

"Hello?"

"Andy?"

"Who's calling?"

"It's Claire."

Andy was stunned. "Claire Standish?"

"Yes, silly. Why, how many other Claires do you know?"

"Just my daughter."

Claire gasped. "You named your daughter after me?"

"Well, kind of. Claire's her middle name, but yeah, I named her after you."

"Aw, that's so sweet. I'm flattered."

"It's no big deal." Andy raised the edge of his towel and wiped off the water he had dripped onto the writing desk.

"Hey, I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"Nah. I was in the shower, actually."

Claire giggled. "Oh my god! Are you talking to me naked?"

Andy laughed. "No, I'm wearing a towel. I'm also dripping all over the place. Oh well, fuck it. This is a cheap motel."

Claire felt a twinge of guilt. She was staying at the Marriott Hotel at Chicago O'Hare Airport, with all the luxuries she could afford.

_Poor Andy._

"Hey, how did you know where to get a hold of me?"

"Oh, I got your number from Allison. She said you left a message on her answering machine."

"Allison?" Andy paused. "Have you seen her?"

"Sure. We went out to dinner last night."

"Oh, wow. Trip out. So, you guys are cool now?"

"Yeah, we're cool. We worked everything out. It was really nice to see her again. I forgot just how much I missed her." Claire glanced at Allison and smiled. Allison had an intent look on her face. She silently mouthed the words "I'm not here." Claire nodded in reply.

"Oh, good. I'm glad you two worked it out. Uh, say, do you know if she's still, you know, pissed off at me?"

"It's not about dredging up the past, Andy; it's about remembering John. Today's all about him." Claire started to choke up. Tears streamed from her eyes. Allison came over, sat beside Claire, and hugged her.

"Claire, are you okay?" Andy sounded concerned.

Claire sniffed. "I'm okay, Andy. It's just, you know, John's ... dead." She sobbed a couple of times, then went on, "This is really hard for me to deal with, you know."

"Oh, I know. After Allison called me the other night, I cried for the first time since I was a little kid. I couldn't help it."

Claire wiped her tears on a tissue. "It's okay for a man to cry, Andy ... especially over something like this."

"Yeah, I know." He sighed. "What a bummer."

Claire changed the subject. "So what have you been up to all these years?"

"Well, I got married; I've got two kids now, a boy and a girl. I'm an assistant wrestling coach at Nebraska—you know, where I went to college."

"Sounds like you're living the good life."

"Well, I don't make a lot of money, but it's what I want to do. I guess I can't complain. I've got a good life."

"Are you happy?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Well, that's the most important thing."

They chatted for a bit, catching up on old times and old friends. Allison went back to the chair she had been sitting in previously and assumed the lotus position. She began to meditate silently. Since Claire and Andy had stayed friends through graduation and parted on good terms, there was no lingering animosity between them, no compulsion to apologize for past wrongs. It was a pleasant conversation, and it even cheered Claire up a little. She still felt hollow inside, though.

"Well, I'd better finish getting cleaned up," Andy said. "I still have to get dressed and call my mom. She's gonna drive me to the funeral home."

Claire felt another pang of guilt. Andy couldn't even afford a rental car. "What about your dad? How is he?"

"He had a stroke a few years ago," Andy said gloomily.

"Oh my god, that's awful."

"He's in a wheelchair now. He can't drive any more; he can't do a lot of things any more."

"Andy, I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, well, what can you do? You know, it's funny: I used to hate and fear him; now I feel sorry for him. I don't hate him any more. I'm glad he pushed me so hard to excel. I think it made me a better person, you know, in the long run."

"That's good."

Andy sighed. "It's weird, seeing him in that wheelchair. He looks so little now. My dad's a big guy. He's not short like me: I must've got that from my mom. My dad's a bear. He used to be so full of life, but that stroke really took a lot out of him. Now he just looks like a beat-up, broken-down old man. It's pretty depressing."

"That's so sad." Claire lit a cigarette.

"Hey, are you smoking?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Since when do you smoke?"

"Since college."

"That figures. I never saw you smoke in high school." Andy cleared his throat. "Well, I guess I'd better call my mom. I wish I didn't have to impose on her like this. She hates driving in the city, but I can't afford a taxi." He snapped his fingers. "Hey, I think they have bus schedules in the lobby. Maybe I can catch a bus ride to Shermer in time for the funeral. I don't know why I didn't think of that before." He laughed sheepishly. "Guess I'm still just a dumb jock."

"I've got a better idea," Claire said. "Why don't I pick you up?" Allison shook her head adamantly, but Claire ignored her.

"I don't want to impose."

"No, really, it's okay. I rented a limo for the weekend. Give me the address to your motel and I'll come pick you up after I finish getting ready."

"Oh, okay."

Andy gave Claire the address. Claire wrote it down on the slip of paper with the phone numbers for Andy and Brian. "Okay, got it. I'll call you back when I'm ready to leave. It's gonna be a little while, so you can eat breakfast and relax."

"Uh, all right. I guess I'll call my mom and tell her I found a ride. Thanks, Claire."

"Oh, please! It's nothing. I'm glad to do it."

"All right, I guess I'll see you in a little while."

They exchanged good-byes and hung up. Andy stood there, dripping on the carpet, staring off into space ... thinking of Allison. He wasn't sure how he would react when he saw her. His stomach knotted as he was overcome by emotion. He sat down on the edge of the lumpy motel bed, the damp towel bunching up around his waist.

_Allison._

She had blown his mind that Saturday in detention. He had never met anyone else like her, before or since. His wife was a good woman and he loved her, but she had never made him feel quite like Allison had. No one else had ever made him feel like that. No one else had ever seen through him and into his very soul. She was a quirky, unique person, and there was something very special about her. It was her combination of boldness and shyness, her fiery defiance and her heart-breaking vulnerability. Allison was like a rare treasure. She needed to be cherished and protected by a loving, devoted attendant. Andy could have been the one, but he had let her go. It was too late now. Lamenting over the past wouldn't bring her back to him. He just had to accept the situation the way it was. After all, it was his own fault for being too chickenshit to even acknowledge her at school. The fact that he knew he had no one to blame but himself made him feel cowardly and ashamed, and angry with himself.

Sighing wearily, Andy got up and went back into the bathroom to finish his shower.

xxx

Allison was glaring at Claire, her eyes squinted in wrath. "What the fuck, Claire?" She gave Claire "the look."

Claire pursed her lips. "Look, Andy needed a ride. He was gonna have his mother come pick him up. What else could I do?"

"What about me? I don't know if I'm ready to face him yet."

"Look, you're gonna have to face him sooner or later today. Who knows what your reaction will be? At least the limo is a controlled environment. Would you rather wait until you see him for the first time at the service? Come on, Alli. You don't want to have a meltdown and make a big, messy scene at John's f-funeral, do you?"

Allison eased up. Just thinking about burying Bender deflated her. "I guess you're right. It's probably better to get this over with before the service starts."

"I agree. In fact, why don't you call Brian and tell him we'll pick him up, too? We might as well get all this stuff out in the open and deal with it on our way to the funeral home. God knows it'll be hard enough for me to just stand there when they lower John's casket into the ground." Claire covered her eyes and moaned. "Oh, god."

Claire and Allison started crying again. They sat on the sofa and held each other, sharing their grief. The bonds of their new, real friendship were beginning to form.

Allison wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Hey, what happened to Andy's dad?"

"He had a stroke. He's still alive, but he's in a wheelchair. It sounds like he needs lots of assistance. Andy said he's in pretty bad shape."

Allison frowned sympathetically. "Poor Andy." Her expression changed to one of curiosity. "What was all that about Andy naming his daughter after you?"

Claire blushed. "Oh. He said his daughter's middle name is Claire. He named her after me."

Allison cocked an eyebrow. "Wow, that's quite an honor. I don't suppose her first name's Allison, is it?"

"He didn't say." Claire cleared her throat. "Hey, what about breakfast?" she said, abruptly changing the subject. "Are you hungry?"

Allison shrugged. "Not really, but I guess we'd better eat something. It's gonna be a long day."

Claire pointed at the writing desk. "There's a menu in the top drawer. Order anything you want. I'll call room service and have them send it up. You want coffee?"

Allison nodded her head.

"How much?"

"Tons."

Claire smiled. Andy had told her the story behind that inside joke between himself and Allison. "Okay, I'll tell them to be sure and send up _tons_ of coffee for you."

"For _us,_" Allison corrected her. "You're gonna need some, too. You'd better eat now; you might not have any appetite later."

Claire nodded agreeably, a fake smile pasted on her pouty lips. Inside she was writhing in grief. "For sure." She rubbed her temples with the tips of her manicured fingernails. "Jesus Christ, I've got such a god-awful hangover," she groaned. "I drank so much last night, I'm surprised I didn't barf. Have you got anything for pain?"

"What, like pills?"

Claire nodded.

"Hold on, I'll look." Allison dug around in her purse until she found a prescription bottle. "I've got some Tylenol with codeine." She gasped. "Oh shit! These are Mrs. Bender's pills. I must've pocketed them by mistake."

"Still a klepto, huh?" Claire joked.

Allison frowned. "It's not funny. I didn't mean to take her pills. What if she needs them?"

"We'll see her in a little while; you can give them back to her then. It's not like they're heart pills or something life-threatening."

Allison hung her head. "Okay." She removed two pills from the bottle. "Think that's enough to do the trick?"

"That'll work. Hey, I've got some Xanax. You want some?"

Allison took a deep, shuddering breath, then nodded. They exchanged pills and washed them down with fresh mineral water poured from a carafe.

"Now I'm ready to face the day," Claire said sardonically.

Allison smiled politely. She couldn't put on a fake front like Claire. Claire had spent years putting on a fake front for people; it was second-nature to her. But Allison had always gone her own way, however bizarre it might have seemed at times. She couldn't become a fake person to please other people. It wasn't in her nature. She had taken the tranquilizers because she was nervous about seeing Andy again, and she didn't want to do anything to disrupt Bender's funeral. If she was tranked out, she might even be able to deal with seeing Andy without getting angry or lapsing into mawkish sentimentality and fantasies of what might have been.

The telephone rang. It was the front desk, reminding Claire of her previous wake-up call. She thanked the operator and hung up the phone.

Claire's cigarette, which she had left in a pink granite ashtray, had burned down to the filter. She removed another from her pack and lit it. Allison bummed a cigarette from her and began dialing Brian's number.

xxx

After an exquisite gourmet breakfast, Allison and Claire got dressed and went downstairs, where a limousine was waiting for them. They drove to Allison's house so she could change for the funeral. Claire was dressed all in black, very discreet and tasteful. Allison wore black, too. She looked achingly beautiful in a modest gown with a black shawl draped over her shoulders. Both of them wore traditional black hats with gauzy black mourning veils. Their pale skin contrasted vividly against their stark clothing.

They were still sluggish and half-asleep. They felt spaced-out and numb. It was the lethargy of bereavement. They each took a diet pill to give themselves a much-needed energy boost.

They didn't talk much on the way to pick up Brian. The specter of Bender's death cloaked them like a shroud. It was becoming all too real now. They held hands, silently giving each other emotional strength.

The limousine stopped to pick up Brian. At first Allison and Claire didn't recognize him. Brian had grown six inches and filled out nicely. Without his braces and zits, he was actually quite good-looking. His voice was deeper, and he seemed much calmer and more self-confident. He was a far cry from the shy, hapless nerd they knew back in high school.

"Remember me?" he asked, grinning broadly.

Claire goggled. "Wow! Get a load of you, hot stuff!"

Brian got inside the limousine and took a seat opposite the women. He was dressed nattily in a black three-piece suit with a white shirt, black tie, and black dress shoes and socks. He wore a discreet black topcoat and expensive leather gloves lined with wool. He had also brought an umbrella and galoshes. The weather forecast had predicted a cold, rainy afternoon, so he had come prepared, as always. Claire had enough forethought to bring raincoats for herself and Allison.

Claire couldn't get over the changes in Brian's appearance. "Holy shit! Now when we call you Big Bri, it won't be some lame joke. You look good, you really do. You're quite a hunk, Brian." She gave Brian a saucy smile that made his spine tingle. He still had a crush on Claire, even after all these years.

Brian laughed. "You know, people from high school always freak out when they see me now. If I'd looked like this back then, I would've been crawling with babes."

"Yeah, but you wouldn't have had any time to do your homework."

Brian sneered. "Who cares about homework?"

Claire smirked. "That's so funny, coming from you."

Brian turned to Allison, who up until now hadn't said a word. "Hi, Allison." He started to blush. "Look, I'm sorry about—"

Allison cut him off with a wave of her hand. "You don't have to apologize. Brian. It was ten years ago. Besides, it seems pretty childish to worry about it at a time like this. Believe me, I got over it a long time ago. It's all ancient history now."

Brian pointed at Claire. "So, you two are cool now?"

Allison nodded. "Yeah." Claire squeezed Allison's hand and smiled.

"Wow, that's great. I'm really glad you guys made up." Brian pointed at himself. "What about us? Are we, you know, are we cool now, too?"

Allison nodded. "We're cool, Big Bri. And Claire's right: you look great, you gorgeous slab of man-meat."

Claire stared at Allison. "What is it with you and blue-eyed blondes, anyway?"

Allison shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I like the aesthetics. Blue and yellow are my favorite primary colors."

Brian grinned delightedly. He really had a nice smile. He leaned forward and hugged Allison. Claire couldn't resist getting in on the act, and they had an impromptu group hug. It seemed to make everyone feel better and put them at ease.

They chatted about the usual things: work, friends, family, and their love lives—or rather, their lack of love lives. Brian was the only one content with his love life. He had been a late bloomer, and was making up for all those lost years. There would be plenty of time for settling down and getting married later. Right now he was having too much fun being single.

The mood changed abruptly as they stopped at Andy's cheap motel. Claire could feel tension thicken the air. Brian sensed it, too. Allison was as rigid as a frozen board, her fingernails unconsciously digging into the palms of her clenched hands. She had known this wouldn't be easy, but this was the point of no return. At least the Xanax Claire had given her should stave off any anxiety attacks. Allison took a deep breath and braced herself for whatever might come.

xxx

Andy splashed on some cheap cologne. He wanted to smell good. He squirted Binaca in his mouth to freshen his breath. He fiddled with the knot in his tie, trying to kill time before he had to leave. He was nervous about seeing Allison again. He wasn't too worried about seeing Brian. He figured Brian was the forgiving type. He wasn't so sure about Allison. She struck him as the type who might hold a grudge for years. He desperately hoped that wasn't the case. He buttoned up his faded gray overcoat and donned a set of gray mittens.

Andy had put on his black suit. It was a cheap, off-the-rack suit, and the seat of the pants was shiny from so many hours spent sitting on benches during wrestling matches, but he couldn't afford a closet full of fancy tailor-made suits. His dress shoes were also well-worn, but at least they matched his suit. He didn't mind not enjoying the good life of a yuppie, but he was afraid that his family might resent him for it. Assistant college wrestling coaches didn't make a lot of money. If he could work his way up to a head-coaching job, the money was pretty decent—nothing like the big money that college football coaches made, but it was still a pretty respectable figure. Andy didn't want his family to miss out on anything just because he had passed up a cushy corporate job working for his father-in-law. It was nothing personal: Andy just wanted to see what he could do as a coach. It kept his competitive fires burning. Like so many athletes, he found it very difficult to walk away from the sport he had devoted years of his life to and make a drastic change in his career path.

Andy locked his room, went downstairs, and paced back and forth in the motel lobby, chewing gum furiously, just like he did during a wrestling match. It was much more nerve-wracking being a coach than an athlete. As a wrestler, at least he had some control over the situation. As a coach, all he could do was watch nervously and hope that his players performed as they were trained, and that no one got seriously injured.

_Allison._

Andy couldn't stop thinking about her. What would happen when they saw each other again? How could a shy, eccentric, taciturn person like Allison have captivated him so, in such a short period of time? He had only met her that day in detention; he had never even seen her at school before. But he had bared his soul to the members of The Breakfast Club, and that had turned out to be a stronger tie than he had previously realized. Why else was he here on his personal vacation time to attend the burial of a guy like Bender?

Andy couldn't understand how one Saturday in detention had made him fall so hard for Allison. He barely knew her, and he had snubbed her in front of all the popular students. Yet despite all other considerations, including his family, he wondered if there was still any of that old sexual chemistry left between them. He had really been hot for her way back when. He just hoped she didn't hate his guts now.

The limousine pulled up to the curb outside. Andy spat his gum into an ashtray, straightened his tie one last time, and ventured forth to meet his pending fate.

xxx

Allison squeaked when she saw Andy step out of the motel. She rarely made odd sounds any more, but this was an extremely stressful situation. Her whole body tensed up. Claire held Allison's hand. Brian put a hand on her shoulder for encouragement. Allison took a deep breath, fighting back the tears that wanted to burst from her eyes. She was determined to handle herself with dignity and self-respect. After all, it was Andy who rejected her all those years ago.

The door opened and Andy got in, taking a seat beside Brian. The chauffeur closed the door and went back to the driver's compartment. As the limousine pulled away from curb, Andy smiled anxiously. "Hey, guys."

"Hey, Andy," the others chimed in unison. This made them laugh, which caused the tension to ease a bit. Andy siezed the moment.

"Holy shit! Is this Brian 'The Brain' Johnson I'm looking at?"

Brian's pale cheeks flushed. "I grew some at college."

"I'll say! Jesus Christ. Too bad you weren't this big in high school; nobody would've fucked with you. We could've used you on the football team." His gaze turned to Claire. "Hey, Claire," he said amiably. "You look more beautiful than ever."

"Hey, yourself." Claire beamed. "You're not so shabby, either."

"Well, I still work out, you know, to keep in shape. Course, it's not like those workouts I did back in high school and college. That regimen would probably kill me if I tried it these days!"

Claire patted his hand. "How've you been, Andy? It's so good to see you!"

"Yeah, it's good to see you, too—all of you," he said, looking at Brian and Allison in turn. Brian smiled at him; Allison gave him a noncommittal stare.

Andy coughed. "Uh, look, you guys—"

Claire touched his arm and squeezed gently. "No more apologies. We all agreed. Right?"

"Right," Brian replied. Allison nodded, her eyes averted.

"The past is the past," Claire said. "It's all ancient history now. Fate brought us back together again—oh god, poor John!"

Allison hugged Claire. They cried. Andy and Brian looked helplessly at one another, squirming in their seats. Eventually the women ceased their sobbing.

Andy caught Allison's eye, and they gazed soulfully at each other. Andy could discern the thought that kept running though her head: _Why did you abandon me?_ He felt so unworthy of her affection that it sickened him. Allison and Claire both had their veils raised. He could see their eyes were red, their pinched faces chapped from being abraded by so many paper facial tissues.

"You should get a box of tissues with aloe vera in them," he said.

"That's a good idea," Claire said. "I saw some in the magazine shop back at the hotel."

Andy peered at Brian. "So we're cool, man?"

Brian grinned. "Yeah, we're cool." They shook hands. "Nice grip," Andy said approvingly.

"Thanks. Hey, you'll never guess who I beat for class valedictorian."

"Who?"

"Larry Lester."

Andy chuckled. "You're shitting me."

"No, really. He's a smart motherfucker." Brain paused, thinking. "It's good to have competition," he said. "Larry made me really bust my ass to earn those honors."

Andy nodded. "It's the same way with sports, business, anything. Competition's a good thing. It makes you work twice as hard. The results show when you put in that kind of effort."

Claire took hold of one of Allison's hands, and clasped one of Andy's hands. "Okay, you guys," she said seriously, "let's settle this thing now. I don't want anything bad to happen during the, uh, the service." She hated saying the word "funeral." It sounded so final, like the period at the end of a sentence.

Andy sighed. "I guess I'll get this started. Allison, something happened between us that day in detention. I didn't realize it at the time, but we all made a bond that turned out to be stronger than we thought. That's why we're all here today. Allison, you made me feel like nobody ever made me feel before—or ever since, either. I guess I fell in love with you that day, but I've got a family now, and I love them, too. I know I decided my fate that Monday when I walked past you. I know it was a shitty thing to do, and I'm sorry. I really am. I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear to God I didn't. Now I can only wonder what might have been between us. I just, I just hope you don't hate me."

"I don't hate you, Andy," Allison said quietly, "not any more. I used to, you know. At first, I loved you. Then, when I realized you weren't ever coming back for me, I hated you. But I got over it, eventually. John really helped me get over you. But mainly, he helped me get over myself. I'm a lot more outgoing and self-confident than I used to be. Part of that is thanks to you, because you made me realize someone could love me—even if it was only for one day." She gazed earnestly at Andy. "Look, I don't want to lay a guilt trip on you. It's okay; I forgive you. Maybe we can still be friends, sort of. I mean, you know, it's kind of hard to just be friends with someone you were in love with once. But we can try."

Andy smiled bashfully. "I'd like that."

Claire smiled. "See? Don't you guys feel better, now that we've cleared the air?"

Everyone nodded, even Brian. Allison did feel a little better, but she still felt a yearning in her loins and in her heart.

_Damn it! Why did he have to get married?_

Allison put on a brave front. She could cry over losing Andy later. Right now, crying over the untimely loss of Bender took precedence.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

The Breakfast Club met Mrs. Bender in a waiting room at the funeral home. It was tastefully decorated, with expensive furniture, deep-pile carpet, wood paneling, and diffuse, indirect lighting. Comforting music played in the background. Yet despite all the lavish accoutrements, it was a quiet, somber place, appropriate for the occasion.

Allison had previously arranged to meet Mrs. Bender here, instead of at the house. Mrs. Bender wore a simple, old-fashioned funeral dress and mourning veil. Her veil was raised, exposing her seamy face. She looked at least ten years older than her actual age of fifty-five. The emotional strain was taking a tremendous toll on her health.

Allison smiled brightly and waved. "Hi." Mrs. Bender waved back, her other hand tightly gripping her cane.

Allison introduced her to the other members of The Breakfast Club. They all offered their condolences for her loss. She nodded morosely, not saying much. It was a lot to take in all at once. It was strange, seeing these nice young people mourning her son. Most of his friends had been dopers and drop-outs, dead-enders like himself.

"I'm glad my boy Johnny had some friends like you all," she said huskily. "You seem like such nice young people."

"Oh, we are, ma'am." Brian dazzled her with his smile. All those years of wearing braces had paid off, because now he had perfect teeth.

Mrs. Bender put a hand on Brian's arm. "Listen to this one. You're quite the smooth talker, aren't you, Brian? You must be very popular with the girls."

"I am now."

Mrs. Bender frowned. "Well, are you ready for this?"

"Ready as we'll ever be," Claire said frankly, her lower lip quivering. Allison and Mrs. Bender held her hands.

Mrs. Bender sighed. "It must've been a bad wreck. They recommended we hold a closed-casket ceremony. Apparently the damage was ..." She moaned.

Allison took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Let's go."

xxx

The ushers were discreet and professional. They led Mrs. Bender to where a few of her relatives were seated. They were mostly older people, drawn and tired, clad in shabby but respectable attire. The absence of younger relatives troubled Allison. It was like Bender's family was dying off, with no one left to carry on their name. He must have had a cousin, someone around his own age, within his family. Of course, he had never talked much about his family, so Allison had no way of confirming whether or not there was another generation of Benders incubating somewhere, like alien pods, waiting for their turn to terrorize the world.

An organist played soft chamber music. The Breakfast Club were escorted to a section where some of Bender's old friends were sitting. They were mostly stoners and burn-outs. Allison recognized one of them, a tall, rangy young man with long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. He had been one of Bender's few close friends. They had grown up together in the same neighborhood. Allison didn't know what his real name was. Bender had always called him "Ace."

Ace recognized Allison; he nodded at her. She waved at him, a quick flick of the wrist. Ace got up, came over, and sat down beside her. Andy regarded him coolly.

_Who's this creep?_

Allison introduced Ace to the rest of The Breakfast Club. Ace was amiable but subdued. His blue eyes were bloodshot. He'd either been crying or smoking pot—maybe both.

"Can I sit with you guys?" Ace asked quietly. "I don't want to sit with them." He indicated the ratty-looking bunch seated further down the pew. "I don't know those people. All I know is, they're junkies. I hate to think John was hanging out with those low-lifes. I mean hey, I party, don't get me wrong, but I don't stick needles in my veins. That's bad shit, man. I don't fuck with the big H."

"Heroin?" Andy bristled. "That's some fucked-up shit. Are you saying John was shooting heroin?"

Ace raised his hands defensively. "Hey, I don't know. It's been years since I last saw John. All I know is, those people are on smack. I know who they are. If they're friends of John's, maybe he was into that whole scene. But I don't know that for sure. I hope to hell he wasn't."

"Oh god, please," Claire said. "I hope he wasn't living like that. I hate to think he was all strung out on drugs when he—" Allison put an arm around Claire and comforted her.

Andy glanced over at the junkies, then sighed. "All right," he said grudgingly, "you can sit with us."

Ace moved over and sat down beside Brian. Brian was much bigger than Andy, but he seemed a lot friendlier. Andy was overtly hostile. Allison realized that Andy was jealous of Ace. That was the source of his latent hostility. Andy had no right to be jealous. After all, he had tossed away any claim he might have had for Allison when he walked on by her at school on the Monday after they all had detention together. Plus he was married now, to some other woman. Still, she couldn't help but feel flattered by Andy's hormonal schoolboy jealousy.

"When was the last time you talked to John?" she asked Ace.

Ace scratched his head. "Oh, about six years ago, I guess."

Allison nodded. That was about the time Bender left Shermer for good, until his recent death.

"I told him I could get him a job working construction with me," Ace went on, "but he had other plans. He still wanted to be a rock star. We used to have a garage band when we were kids—I played bass, John played guitar. Couple other neighborhood kids were in the band. Our old drummer OD'ed on speed. Our old singer works at the bowling alley now." Ace looked around the room. "I think he's here somewhere. You remember Spider, right?"

Allison nodded. "Vaguely."

Ace smiled wistfully. "We all thought we were gonna be rock stars when we were kids, but then you grow up and life goes on. But old John just couldn't give up the dream of the good life. Last time I saw him, he said he was going to California to make it big as a rock star. He asked me to go with him, but I already had a good job, so I stayed here. He split town the very next day. I haven't talked to him since."

"Damn!" Andy gripped his trembling thighs. He had the jitters, just like before a wrestling match. He fought valiantly to contain his anxiety.

Claire couldn't stop staring at the casket placed in front of the rows of chairs. Bender was inside that casket, and he was as dead as disco. Her guts roiled in anguish.

Allison stole furtive glances at the casket, like she was afraid Bender would somehow be able to see her looking at him. It was a creepy feeling. She had difficulty reconciling herself to the unpleasant fact that Bender was really dead, dead and gone for good, soon to be buried underground inside a metal box for all eternity.

Brian was consciously not looking at the casket. Just a glimpse of it from the corner of his eye had shaken him up badly. He didn't want to lose control of himself.

Andy kept picturing his father lying in that casket. It was grotesque and horrific, but he was worried that his father didn't have many years left. That stroke had taken a lot out of him. Andy wondered if they had dressed Bender in a suit, or if he was still wearing his signature look. He frowned. That was an odd thing to ponder. He realized that he was just trying not to think about Bender's dead, decaying corpse lying inside that casket, his eyes closed forever. The very thought of it chilled Andy to the bone.

Ace was staring at the floor, his face glum. He had known Bender a long time, and he felt the loss very deeply. Most of the kids from their old neighborhood were in prison, addicted to drugs, or homeless. A lucky few had escaped life on the streets by enlisting in the armed forces. Ace had considered joining the Army, but wasn't sure if he was cut out for the rigors of military life. He scratched his stubbled chin absently, lost in thought.

The organ music stopped. A pastor approached a microphone set on a dais and cleared his throat. He welcomed the mourners and extended his sympathy to Bender's family and friends. He performed a brief monologue that was meant to sum up Bender's life, but there wasn't much to say. No one had seen Bender in years. He offered to let anyone come up and say a few last words, but no one volunteered. The pastor stepped down and went to console Mrs. Bender and her relatives personally. There was a crackle in the PA system, then from the hidden speakers issued forth the elegiac strains of Elton John's "Funeral for a Friend."

Claire blanched. "Oh my god, why are they playing that song?"

Allison squeezed Claire's hand. "John made me promise to play this song for him, if he died before me. It was one of his last requests."

Claire furrowed her brow. "What other last requests did John have?"

"He made me promise to get The Breakfast Club back together again one last time. He knew better than any of us how much we need each other."

Claire started crying again, but she did not sob. She sat rigidly as warm, salty tears streamed down her cheeks. At least Allison and Andy could start fresh and try to be friends again, but for her, there was no emotional closure. Bender was just a memory now, already starting to fade. His raucous, charismatic personality had vanished from the Earth. Allison was right: life was so fucking unfair.

Claire's aching heart suffered another jolt when the music segued into "Love Lies Bleeding in My Hands." Allison had forgotten that there was not a break between the two songs. Claire became convinced that Bender had requested this song specifically for her sake. She got up and left in a hurry, her heels tapping on the plush carpet. After a moment's hesitation, Allison went after her. She followed Claire into the women's bathroom.

Claire stared miserably at herself in the mirror above the sink. Her veil was up; her face was splotchy from crying. Her makeup was ruined. She turned on the cold-water faucet and splashed her face. Her eyes felt hot and sticky, so she flushed them with cold water. Feeling somewhat refreshed, she blew her nose and tossed the soiled paper towel in the trash receptacle.

Claire looked sheepishly at Allison. "Guess I really made a scene, huh?"

Allison kissed Claire's cheek. "Nah, you're doing just fine."

Claire shut her eyes and scrubbed a hand over her forehead. "It was that song that got to me."

"Well, it _is_ a funeral dirge—"

Claire shook her head. "No, not that. The other song. I keep thinking—" she shuddered, "—I keep thinking that song was about me. You know, like he was saying it was his love that lies bleeding in my hands, because I broke his heart." She gripped the sink, shaking with emotion and reaction. "It's all my fault he turned out the way he did. I rejected him, and he didn't have anybody else to love him. That's what drove him to shooting up smack and ruining his life. It's like I killed him."

"Claire, no!" Allison put a hand on Claire's arm. "Don't ever think like that. John's inner demons drove him to do what he did. Believe me, I know. He was so angry and bitter because of all the abuse and neglect he suffered. He told me all about it. It's not your fault he had a hard life. You can't tear yourself down worrying about what if you had done this, or what if you hadn't done that. That shit gets you nowhere. All you do is wallow in pity and self-loathing. You're much too good a person for that."

"I don't feel like a good person." Claire groaned. "I feel like a piece of shit."

"You're not a piece of shit." Allison squeezed Claire's shoulder. "John wouldn't want you to blame yourself for his fate. He loved you, and he wanted you to be happy."

"I don't think I'll ever be happy now. God, this hurts so much!"

"I know it does, but you have to let him go."

"I'm never gonna fall in love again!"

Allison squeezed Claire's arm. "Don't say that. You don't want to spend the rest of your life alone, do you?"

"No ... I don't know." Claire blew her nose again. "Maybe John was the one, and I missed out. What if I never find anybody else?"

"All you can do is try."

Claire shook her head. "I don't know ... I don't even know if I want to fall in love again. This hurts so bad! I don't want to go through anything like this ever again."

"I know it hurts, but you can't be afraid of falling in love again. You have to give love a chance. That means being willing to take risks. You'll never find true love and happiness if you're scared of letting yourself be emotionally vulnerable."

"Ha!" Claire said ascerbically. "You're one to talk. At least I date. You don't even go out on dates, you god damn hypocrite! Why is that? Are you afraid of being vulnerable?"

Allison sighed, frustrated. "Look, Claire, you made your point, and you're right: I've got issues, too. But we're talking about you."

Claire twisted a strand of her hair nervously. "Listen, Alli, this is, like, the worst day of my life, by far. You can't blame me for being upset."

"I'm not! It's normal for you to be upset. After all, he was your first love."

Claire hung her head. "I know. It's just—I'm afraid he's gonna be my one and only love. That would certainly suck."

Allison's shoulders drooped. "I know how you feel. I feel the same way about Andy." She sighed. "Are you gonna be all right?"

Claire nodded, sniffling. "Now comes the fun part," she said caustically. "We get to see which hole they're gonna put him in." She smiled, but it was a fake smile. She was beside herself with grief, and it showed in her desperate speech, her wan pallor, and the dark smudges under her sunken brown eyes. Still, she was determined not to cause a ruckus of any kind. Bender would have been proud of her courage.

Allison dug in her purse. "Hang on, let's have a quick smoke. I need one."

"Me, too."

They each lit a cigarette and smoked anxiously, without talking. Their nerves were stretched to the limit. Both were jittery from mental stress and diet pills.

They snuffed out their cigarettes by holding them under running tap water, then tossed the soggy butts in the trash receptacle. Silently, reluctantly, they exited the bathroom and made their way to the grave site.

xxx

The sky was cloudy and gloomy, but despite the weather forecast, no rain fell on the mourners gathered around Bender's grave. The pall bearers made their way slowly and deliberately, trying not to jostle the casket. The pall bearers consisted of Andy, Brian, Ace, and three rather scruffy-looking characters who were all somewhat familiar to Allison, but she had no idea what their names were. She was pretty sure one of them was Spider. Ace was a different story. He had hung around the apartment a lot, mostly on weekends. He had been totally unafraid of Bender, and they would break each other's balls at times. Allison had been fascinated by the bizarre bonding ritual men had of thinking up the most vile, disgusting, and vulgar things to say to one another. Sometimes they were very colorful and creative, in a nauseating sort of way. The male psychology was fascinating to her because men were generally straightforward, whereas women were indirect and manipulative. Men really had no idea what they were up against when it came to emotional conniving and pseudo-intellectual sophistry. For the most part, women had a huge advantage in that regard, and they were expert at exploiting their dominance to maximum effect. Boys learned how to fight; girls learned how to get others to fight. The smarter boys figured that out, sooner or later. Some guys never learned, though. Those poor bastards were like putty in the hands of a predatory woman.

There were lawn chairs set up for the mourners, and a canopy to shield them from the elements. Mrs. Bender and the rest of Bender's relatives were seated in the front row. Ace introduced one of the pall bearers, whose name was Spider. He had been the singer in their garage band. Allison barely remembered seeing him back in the old days. The minister came and said a short prayer with the family, then spoke briefly to the assembled mourners. After that, he went and sat with Bender's relatives.

The four surviving members of The Breakfast Club lined up and offered their most heartfelt condolences to Bender's family. After that, Allison went to the casket and began rummaging around in her handbag.

"What's she doing?" Andy asked Claire. Claire shrugged. She had no idea what Allison was doing.

Allison placed five items on top of the casket: Bender's combination lock, Claire's lipstick that she had used to do the cleavage trick, Andy's state-champion wrestling patch, Brian's Shermer Public Library card she had lifted from his wallet in detention, and one of the pixie-stick straws she had used to make her notorious sandwich. Then she put her hand on the coffin and patted it, almost caressing it, mentally saying good-bye to Bender.

Andy felt a lump in his throat. _She kept my patch!_ It buoyed his doleful spirits, because he knew she wouldn't have kept it if she hated him.

_So that's what happened to my library card!_ Brian remembered having to get a replacement, but he had never even suspected that Allison had swiped it. _I should've known,_ he thought, morbidly amused.

Allison lingered by the coffin, ruminating. It bothered her that no one had gotten up to say anything about Bender. She had wanted to, but her desperate shyness had inhibited her. She wasn't comfortable with public speaking. She wanted to tell everyone about the Bender she knew, a friend who had always been there for her, who had been like an older brother to her. Despite his fake bad-boy persona, he had been a sensitive, caring person who just wanted someone to love him, but was afraid to let his guard down and be emotionally vulnerable. People had been hurting him his whole life. Consequently, he had been reluctant to trust people—especially girls—and afraid to show his gentler side. It was only because of the unique bond they shared that Bender had shown her that aspect of his personality. She knew that, and treasured it all the more because she knew how reluctant Bender had been to drop the tough-guy routine and stop being a smart-ass when he was around other people. One-on-one was a different story. He opened up when it just himself and Allison, curled up on the couch in their apartment, watching "Miami Vice" with the lights off and the volume cranked up all the way. Bender loved that show. Allison liked it, too. The pastel color pallette used in the art design and the costumes caught her eye. For a TV cop show, it was visually impressive—very exotic and vivid, even artistic, especially when mixed with a rock-music soundtrack.

The service was winding to a close. Ace, Spider, and Bender's other friends had already left. Mrs. Bender was still sitting on a folding lawn chair, her face lined with grief. Her eyes were watery and bloodshot. She looked so despondent. Allison went over to check on her.

"Mrs. Bender? I don't want to disturb you while you're with your family," she said courteously.

Mrs. Bender sighed. "It's all right, dear. What is it?"

"I just wanted to say good-bye."

"Thank you so much for all your help, sweetie. You've been a godsend."

Allison blushed. "It's the least I could do. I owed it to John."

Mrs. Bender winced at the mention of her son's name. Tears seeped from under her eyelids. She wailed. "I still can't believe he's really gone."

Allison hugged her tightly. "It's okay." She made a gentle shushing sound. "It's okay." She didn't know what else to say.

"I'm all alone in the world now."

"No, you're not," Allison said firmly. "You've still got me." She handed Mrs. Bender a business card. "That's got my work phone number and my home phone number on it. Call me any time you want. Day or night."

Mrs. Bender gripped Allison's arm. "Thank you, Allison." She sniffled. "It's hard being old and alone."

"You're not alone. We can go to lunch sometime, maybe catch a show, or just hang out and talk. I'll be there for you whenever you need me."

"That's a mighty big commitment. Are you sure?"

"Of course." Allison smiled. "You're now officially a member of The Breakfast Club. We stick together, after all. It's like you wanted: at least something good came out of all this."

"I'm glad you and your friends are together again."

Allison blew out her breath. "Well, we'll see what happens. I hope we stay in touch this time. But either way, you and I will definitely stay in touch."

Mrs. Bender was unconvinced. "What if you meet a man?"

"Then he'll have to meet with your approval." Allison's face went blank for a second. "Oh, shit! I almost forgot." She reached inside her handbag and pulled out the prescription bottle she had inadvertently stolen from Mrs. Bender. "I accidentally took these," she said, her face reddening again. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. It's just that—well, I used to be a kleptomaniac. Sometimes I backslide, I guess."

"It's all right, dear. Go ahead and keep the pills, if you need them. I can always get more from my doctor."

"No, really, it was an accident. Please, take them."

"All right, then." Mrs. Bender put the medicine bottle in her purse. "There we are. Good as new."

Allison bent down and kissed Mrs. Bender's tear-stained cheek. "I guess I'd better get going. I have to go home and clean up. We're getting together later at Claire's hotel suite for a private wake. Oh, you can come, too, if you want," she added hastily.

Mrs. Bender shook her head. "No thank you. I can't handle any more excitement today. I just want to go home and get some sleep. I'm so damn tired."

"Me, too." Allison yawned.

"Don't get me started." Mrs. Bender yawned. "See? I knew it! Whenever someone else yawns, it always makes me yawn, too. I wonder why that is."

Allison shrugged. "I'm the same way. Maybe it's just a normal reaction." She hoisted her hefty handbag. "Well, I guess I'd better go now."

Mrs. Bender raised her hand. "Just a minute, I've got something I want to give you." She rummaged around in her purse and pulled out a music-cassette tape. "Allison" was the only word printed on the label. "I found this in my Johnny's room when I was going through his stuff. I figured he must've wanted you to have it, since your name's on it."

Allison examined the tape, curious. It was one of those cheap audiotapes they sold at Radio Shack for tape-recorders and answering machines. Seeing her name written on the label in Bender's distinctive scrawl intrigued her.

_Now what could this be?_

"Huh. I wonder what it is. I'll have to listen to it later, when I have time to sit down and relax." Allison stashed the tape in her handbag. "Well, good-bye—"

"Hold on, there's one more thing." Mrs. Bender gave Allison an envelope with Claire's name on it. "Would you see that she gets this, please?"

"Of course." Allison pocketed the envelope and kissed Mrs. Bender again. "Take care, okay? Remember: call me any time you feel like it."

"I will, sweetie. Thanks again ... for everything."

Allison smiled. "My pleasure."

xxx

Allison met the others in the parking lot. Everyone piled into Claire's limousine for the short ride to the Bender house, where Allison's car was still parked. No one felt much like talking. It was a short trip, but it seemed much longer. Everyone was still trying to process Bender's death and burial, each in their own personal way.

Turning onto Bender's street, Allison was relieved to see that no one had stolen her car or vandalized it in any way. She had been worried about leaving her car unattended overnight, but luck had apparently been on her side. Maybe it was simple respect for the dead: maybe no one from the neighborhood wanted to bother Mrs. Bender or any of her guests at a time like this. _Maybe there really is some honor among thieves,_ she thought, although she remained skeptical.

Allison got out of the limousine and buttoned up her peacoat. The air was getting chilly. "Okay. I'm gonna go home and clean up, then I'll call you."

"Okay," Claire said. "I'll send the limo for you so you don't have to drive all the way to O'Hare. Besides, you probably won't be in any shape to drive home after an Irish-style wake."

"I hear that," Brian said, flashing his infectious grin.

"Oh, wait a second." Allison pulled out the envelope addressed to Claire and handed it to her. "Mrs. Bender wanted me to give this to you. She found it in John's stuff. She thought you should have it."

Claire took the envelope, nonplussed. She could feel a folded sheet of paper inside. She tore open the envelope and removed the paper. As she unfolded it, something fell out. She reached down to the leather seat and picked up the errant object.

It was her diamond earring, the one she gave Bender right after detention, when they kissed beside her father's BMW in front of the school.

Claire scoured the paper, searching frantically for a note. Bender had written only a few brief lines:

_"Hey Cherry, I never forgot about you—but I sure tried like hell. Sorry we couldn't work it out, babe. Have a great life. I love you. Yours forever, JB."_

Claire felt woozy all of a sudden. Her face was pale and drawn.

"What's wrong, Claire?" Brian asked solicitously. "Are you okay?"

After the gray fog in her head had passed, and Claire could see again, she showed them the earring. Each of them understood its significance to her. She passed the note to Allison, who let everyone else read it. While they read, Claire puffed nervously on a cigarette, trying to remember every minute of that day. She tried to recall every detail about Bender: his clothes, his breath, his cocky swagger, and especially that intimate moment they shared in the closet. It had all been so long ago, but she would never forget that day as long as she lived. It was burned into her memory forever.

Allison handed Claire the paper. "Wow. I don't know what to say, except he must've really loved you. But you already knew that."

Claire nodded, tears welling in her eyes. "I know," she said, so quietly it was almost a whisper. Allison hugged her. Claire clung to Allison, in dire need of human contact.

Finally they broke their embrace. Allison patted Claire on the back. "Feel better?"

Claire nodded, sniffling. She sat back down on the car seat. Andy and Brian consoled her as best they could.

Allison sighed. "See you guys in a little bit."

"Drive safe," Andy called out.

Allison waved in reply.

Allison unlocked her car, got in, and started the engine. While letting the motor warm up, she held the audiotape Mrs. Bender had given her. Her curiosity got the best of her. She pushed the tape into the car stereo's cassette deck.

At first there was nothing but silence, followed by some crackles and pops. Then an acoustic guitar could be heard. After a brief introduction, Bender's unmistakable voice began singing softly and in tune. The song was a ballad, an ode about Allison. The lyrics made Allison shake. She was so distraught, she gripped the steering wheel with both hands, her whole body trembling. The haunting words seared themselves into her soul like hot branding irons.

_Oh Allison ..._

_I only just met you, but I'll never forget you._

_Allison ..._

_You're not a disgrace, so don't hide your face._

_Allison ..._

_People look through you, 'cause they never knew you._

_Allison ..._

_Let go of your pain, embrace life once again ... dear Allison._

_Listen to me now,_

_Time slowly takes its toll._

_It's scary but somehow,_

_Eventually we all grow old._

_It's so much easier to carry the load,_

_When you don't always have to go it alone._

_That's such a lonely way to live,_

_And you've got so much love to give ... sweet Allison._

_So Allison ..._

_Your parents ignore you, they're never there for you._

_Allison ..._

_They gave you your scars, but you're much better than they are._

_Allison ..._

_You're growing up fast, so forget the past._

_But Allison ..._

_It's a cruel world out there, for people like you who care ... poor Allison._

_Believe me when I say,_

_Even the outcasts will have their day._

_Don't give up just yet,_

_Take some more time, hedge your bets._

_There's someone out there for you,_

_I know it sounds corny, but I believe that it's true._

_Open up your heart, before it's too late,_

_Don't end up like me, resigned to my solitary fate ... please Allison._

_Hey Allison ..._

_I feel the pain, that's flowing through your veins._

_Allison ..._

_I know you're dejected, it hurts being rejected._

_Allison ..._

_I hate to see the sadness in your beautiful brown eyes._

_Allison ..._

_You're not the only one, who sits all alone in the dark and cries,_

_I just hope your heart never dies ... my Allison._

Allison leaned forward with her arms on the steering wheel, buried her face, and sobbed uncontrollably.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Somehow Allison managed to drive home without crashing. She was still shaking, but not as badly as before. She breathed a deep sigh of relief when she turned into her driveway. She pressed the button on the remote controller for the garage door. The garage door opened with a slow, mechanical jerkiness. She drove into the garage, shut off the engine, and switched off the car's lights. A single bulb on the electric motor that operated the garage door was the sole source of illumination. She flipped the switch by the interior door and the garage door closed. She went inside, locked the door behind her, and turned on the kitchen lights.

She missed her cats, who had always greeted her when she got home. She had gotten them from the animal shelter. They had been wonderful pets, but both had died, one just recently. She didn't have the heart to get another one yet. She was still in mourning.

It was warm in the house. Allison stripped down to her underwear and went to the refrigerator. She opened the freezer, pulled out a bottle of vodka, and took a swig. The burning sensation in her throat and belly warmed her up inside. It also made her feel a bit numb, which was exactly what she wanted. Allison took another drink, then put the bottle back in the freezer. She considered popping a Valium, but thought better of it. Booze and pills were a deadly combination. As tired as she was, she was confident she would have no problem sleeping tonight.

She took the tape from her handbag and placed it on the kitchen counter. She decided not to tell the others about it, since it was so personal and intimate. She wasn't sure what Claire's reaction would be. Besides, the name on the tape was "Allison," not "The Breakfast Club." She figured Bender had probably meant for the song to be something only the two of them shared, and she wanted to keep it that way.

Allison pulled out her marijuana stash and smoked a bowl in her bong. She got an intense headrush and almost blacked out. As she regained her senses, she had the idea of rolling a couple of joints for later. She remembered the others didn't really open up and talk about themselves in detention until after they had gotten high.

After rolling a couple of joints and hiding them in her cigarette pack, she stripped off her underwear and took a long, hot shower. The massaging showerhead eased her aching muscles and took the edge off her low-grade headache. After showering, she brushed her teeth, buffed her slender body dry with a thick towel, and blow-dried her hair. Then she applied deodorant, pink lip gloss, and some expensive perfume she only wore on special occasions. It was one of those fancy French fragrances. Claire probably would have recognized it right away. Allison loved the smell of it.

Allison called Claire and asked her to send the limousine, then she mulled over what to wear. She decided on blue jeans, tennis shoes, and a sweatshirt that bore the name of her _alma mater._ She wore no jewelry, not even her class ring. Satisfied with her appearance, she donned her peacoat and stepped outside to wait for the limousine to arrive.

xxx

As Allison climbed into the limousine, she was surprised to see Andy sitting in one of the seats. She gave him a quizzical look.

Andy shrugged. "Hey, don't ask me. The limo just picked me up, then we came here. I guess Claire called the driver and told him to stop and pick you up on the way." He sniffed. "Hey, you smell great! What kind of perfume are you wearing?"

Allison ignored the question. She sat down and buckled her seatbelt. Her initial leeriness was wearing off. "So you didn't arrange this?"

"Arrange what?" Andy looked as confused as Allison felt. She smiled. "Never mind, it's cool."

They rode in silence for a while as the limousine cruised through the chilly Chicago night. Eventually Andy cleared his throat.

"So, how's everything going with you?" he asked blandly.

"Okay, I guess. I like my job."

"That's good. It's good to do something you like—you know, like me, with wrestling."

"I can remember a time when you were tired of wrestling." Allison regarded him with her penetrating gaze.

Andy smiled self-consciously. "I was just burned out, that's all. My dad pushed me really hard, but now, I'm glad he did it. He taught me how to be a winner in life: focus, discipline, determination, commitment ... those are all good qualities to have. You can go far in life with a strong work ethic."

"I suppose," she conceded.

"I was just tired of him riding my ass all the time. It was a lot of pressure. I know how Brian felt with his parents. But things are different now. I'm a coach, not an athlete. It's still a lot of pressure, but it's different. Aw hell, I'm only an assistant coach, anyway."

"Everybody has to start somewhere," Allison said optimistically. "I'm sure you'll be a big success as a head coach some day."

"I hope so." Andy's face was cloudy, then suddenly cleared. "So what do you do?"

She told him about her job, and how she used art to try and get emotionally-disturbed children to communicate by channeling their feelings into positive activities.

Andy was impressed. "That's great, Allison. I think it's great you're helping those poor kids. It's tough being a parent. You wish you could keep them from getting hurt, but it's a rough world and they're gonna get hurt sometimes. But when they're little, it breaks you heart when they're in pain. It's like you'd do anything just to take their pain away, you know?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I know. The younger they are, the more heart-breaking it is. Sometimes I feel so helpless, you know? I mean, like, why can't these kids live normal, healthy lives? What did they ever do to deserve such a shitty fate? It's terrible to be handicapped, but especially children. It tears my guts out sometimes. But, you try to focus on the success stories. We've helped lots of kids break through and open up again. That's what makes it all worthwhile."

Andy took Allison's hands and held them gently. "You really are a special person, Allison Reynolds. I knew that the first time we met."

Allison's jaw tightened, forming dimples on her chin. "I felt the same way about you, too, Andy—but then you broke my heart. I guess I'll always love you, but I'm not gonna commit adultery with you."

Andy was shocked. "Adultery? Who said anything about that?"

"Oh, come on. There's still a strong, mutual attraction between us. If we get all cuddly and give into temptation, we'll end up bumping uglies in some cheap motel."

Andy laughed. He had never heard a woman use the expression "bumping uglies" before. Only Allison would say such a thing. Allison, who could have been his, if only he had acted when he still had the chance. Now he had only his own cowardice and weakness of character to blame. That was what made his fate so much harder to accept. At least he still had his wife and children, which were a source of enormous strength to him. He resolved not to betray their trust.

"Are you lonely?" he asked her.

She stared at him. Her eyes were shiny with tears. "Yes, sometimes. But not all the time." She shrugged. "It comes and goes." She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her heavy woolen peacoat.

"I'm sorry. I mean it." He felt like shit for making her cry. It tore him up inside to see her this way.

"It's okay."

"I feel like everything's all my fault."

"It's not you fault, Andy. Stop blaming yourself. I was totally fucked up long before I ever met you, you know."

Andy scrubbed a hand over his face. "This is so hard, being close to you again."

"It's hard for me, too," she confessed. "I still want you. I mean, I know it's wrong—I know you're married and all—but I still have feelings for you. I guess I always will."

"I want you, too. Bad. Real bad." He smacked the palm of his hand with his fist. "Damn it!"

Allison sighed. "This is what I was dreading. I knew something like this would happen."

"I feel terrible about this." Andy put his hands on his sore knees. The cool night air always made his knees ache. "Well, if we're gonna be friends, I guess we're just gonna have to learn to adjust."

Allison exhaled noisily. "I guess so."

"I just have one request."

She looked at him suspiciously. "What?"

"One last kiss ... for old time's sake."

"Andy—"

"Come on, Allison. I'll have to live with the memory of this one last kiss for the rest of my life. Give me something good to remember you by. It'll be our little secret."

Allison rolled her eyes. Then, without a word, she grabbed Andy's ears and kissed him like he'd never been kissed before. Not even his own wife had ever shown so much passion in a simple kiss. Afterwards, he sat there awestruck, his short, spiky hair tousled and beaded with droplets of sweat. "Is it me, or did it just get hot in here?"

Allison giggled. She even managed one of her trademark squeals. Then she looked Andy over, taking him all in for the first time. She burst out laughing.

Andy frowned. "What's so funny?"

Allison indicated his clothing. "Look at what you're wearing: parachute pants, an Ocean Pacific jersey, a Member's Only jacket ... get real! That stuff is _so_ 1980s."

Andy shook his head. "I don't get it. I thought this stuff was the latest style."

"Yeah, ten years ago. Nobody wears that stuff any more." She pursed her lips at his sullen expression. "I'm guessing your wife didn't pack your suitcase."

"Actually, she did, but I added some stuff of my own."

"What kind of stuff?" Allison asked ingenuously.

"You know, just some ... stuff."

"Like that ridiculous outfit you're wearing?"

Andy scowled. "Jesus Christ! You made your point, okay?"

Allison smirked. "Wait till Claire and Brian get a look at you!"

Andy averted his eyes. "You don't have to break my balls," he said crossly.

She poked him playfully in the ribs. "Oh, lighten up, Clark. I'm just joking."

At the mention of his surname, Andy smiled in spite of his minor fit of pique. "Whatever you say, Reynolds. I don't argue with crazy people. I learned that the hard way."

This time Allison elbowed his ribcage with a bit more force than before. It caught him off guard, but he recovered quickly enough. He was still young, tough, and in good physical condition. She had actually given him a pretty good shot to the ribs, but he was loathe to admit it. "Bender teach you that?" he asked sarcastically.

Allison smiled but declined to respond.

Andy examined her government-issue peacoat. "Jeez! Talking bad about my clothes ... What the hell did you do, join the Navy?"

"It's just an old peacoat. I got it cheap at a military-surplus store. It was in mint condition, too. I love it. It's so nice and warm. I keep a pair of gloves in the pockets. You know how these Chicago winters are."

"Boy, do I! It's the same way in Nebraska. It reminds me of home sometimes, like when we get buried under a mountain of snow, or when the wind starts howling in the eaves during a big storm, and you listen for the sound of a tornado heading your way. It makes me homesick sometimes, you know?"

She smiled. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Sometimes I drive out to the countryside and draw landscapes. Do you like pastoral scenes?"

"Oh yeah, I've got some relatives who live way out in the sticks. We used to go there for summer vacation when I was a kid. We used to go skinny-dipping in the water hole on the back forty."

"Back forty?" She raised an eyebrow. "I never knew you were the farmer type."

"I'm not," Andy said with a trace of indignation. "I just like spending time in the woods, same as you. Okay?"

Allison touched his arm. "Sorry, I didn't mean piss you off."

He sighed. "It's okay. It's just weird, that's all—you know, seeing you again after all these years. It's been a long time."

"It sure has."

After an awkward silence, they leaned closer, yearning to kiss again. Allison realized what was happening and pulled back, turning her head to one side. "I'm sorry," she said.

Andy ran a hand anxiously through his hair. "It's okay. You're right. I don't know what the hell I was thinking."

She smiled impishly. "I know what you were thinking."

"Same thing as you?"

She blushed. "Yeah."

Andy's leg was twitching nervously. "You know, I was really flattered you kept my old wrestling patch after all these years."

Allison shrugged. "I kept a lot of stuff. It helps me remember that day."

"What about my warm-up jacket?"

"Oh, I threw that old thing away years ago. I wore it till it fell apart."

Andy was pleased. "Really?"

"Sure, why not? It was warm and comfortable, and it fit great. I used to wear it when I went jogging."

They both looked up in surprise as the limousine pulled up in front of a hotel and stopped. "Jesus! What now?" Andy said cantankerously.

The back door opened and in climbed Brian. He smiled bashfully. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything," he joshed.

Allison punched him on the arm. Brian sat down and stretched his long, lanky legs. "Looks like the gang's all here," he said.

"Almost," Allison said lugubriously. Andy and Brian hung their heads. Allison grabbed a Heineken from the wet bar and popped the top. The cold, malty beer tasted good. "Anybody else want one?"

"Sure," Andy said flatly, thinking about how none of them would ever see Bender again.

Brian sighed. "I'll take one. It's been a long day."

"No shit." Allison opened two more beers and passed them out. She raised her bottle in a toast. "To John."

"To John," Andy and Brian echoed. They clinked their bottles together, then sat back and sipped their beers in silence.

Brian's arrival had been very fortuitous. They made small talk, just chit-chat, but it diverted Allison and Andy from their carnal desire. They were grateful for his presence.

By the time they finished their beers, they had arrived at the Airport Marriott. The chauffeur opened the rear door to let them out. Together they mounted the steps to the extravagant hotel, shivering in the cold, damp wind blowing off Lake Michigan.

xxx

Claire's face was flushed when she answered the door. She had obviously been drinking, and seemed to be in good spirits. She had pasted on her best fake smile, trying to pretend everything was all right. But Allison knew that Claire's jocularity was just an act. Claire was dying inside, but she was putting on a brave front for the sake of her friends. Allison felt a mixture of pity and admiration for Claire. She wasn't sure if she could have handled the situation as well as Claire was. She couldn't have Andy, but at least he was still alive, and they had had a chance to talk. Claire didn't have that luxury. Her one-and-only was lying in a box underground, slowly decomposing. The ghastly imagery shook Allison from her lassitude.

"Hey, Claire," she said, flashing a fake smile of her own.

"Hey, you guys, come on in." Claire left the door open and walked back into the middle of the room. Allison, Andy, and Brian followed her, Brian closing the door and locking it behind him. Claire was dressed in a designer sweatsuit, the one she wore to the gym. It was casual but stylish, and looked comfortable. She was barefoot. Her toes were freshly painted with pink nail polish.

"I recognize that perfume you're wearing," she told Allison. "That stuff isn't cheap."

"I only wear it on special occasions."

"You can just throw your coats on that table over there," Claire told the others. They removed their coats. Allison's UNLV sweatshirt became the new topic of conversation.

"You went to college in Las Vegas?" Brian asked her.

"Yeah. Why? What's wrong with that?"

"N-nothing," he stammered. "It's just hard to picture you in a place like Las Vegas." Claire and Andy nodded in agreement.

"They offered me a partial scholarship, so I took it. I was in college. It's not like I was hanging out in the casinos, gambling my money away."

Brian raised his hands in a gesture of contrition. "Sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything. It just took me by surprise, that's all."

Allison managed a brief smile. "It's okay, Brian. I'm not mad at you."

Claire reclined on a large sofa and put her feet up on the coffee table. "Make yourselves at home," she said magnanimously. "There's a fully-stocked bar, so go for it. As you can tell, I've already had a few drinks." She giggled.

"Thanks, Claire," Brian said courteously. Claire's inebriation concerned him. He hoped she was all right. He knew today had been extremely difficult for her.

Andy picked up on Brian's cue. "I'll handle it. I did a little bar-tending after I got out of college."

Claire stared at him. "You're kidding!"

Andy shrugged. "I was just moon-lighting to help pay the bills and save a little money in the bank, for a change."

"You must have been like Tom Cruise in 'Cocktail!'" Claire snickered at her own witticism.

Andy laughed. "Not quite. But I do know my way around a bar. I still remember how to make most of the popular drinks."

"I'll have a Singapore Sling, barkeep," Allison piped up, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

Andy's face went blank. "I never heard of that one before."

"Never mind. Besides, you know what I like."

"Vodka. Tons of vodka." They winked at each other, acknowledging their private joke. Andy walked over to the wet bar and inspected the contents. "White Russian okay?"

"I prefer Screwdrivers. I figure the orange juice helps balance out the alcohol."

Andy nodded. "You got it." He got out some glasses, then bent down and searched for the vodka. "Hey Brian, what's your poison?"

"Tom Collins, on the rocks."

Andy nodded. "Good, I still remember how to make those. How about you, Claire? You still like champagne cocktails?"

"Champagne's for celebrations. This isn't a celebration."

"In a way, it is," Brian said. "After all, this is a wake. We're celebrating John's life."

Andy was befuddled. "I thought we were mourning his death."

"Well, we are, technically speaking."

Claire shook her head adamantly. "Fuck that. I don't feel like celebrating; I'm not in the mood."

"Well, what _are_ you in the mood for?" Andy asked patiently.

"Jack and Coke."

Allison's ears pricked up. Jack and Coke had been Bender's favorite drink. She wondered if Claire knew that. _How could she?_ Still, it was an odd coincidence.

Andy made cocktails for all of them and distributed the drinks. When he handed Claire her Jack and Coke, she looked him over with a bemused expression. She was unable to keep from laughing.

Andy frowned. "What's so funny?"

Claire was laughing so hard that tears were pouring down her cheeks. The laughter released a lot of pent-up emotions she had been holding back. "Look at you!"

Andy pouted. "Jesus, you too, huh? I already got an earful of it from Allison on the ride over."

Claire wiped her eyes with a tissue, blew her nose in it, then threw the soiled tissue in the trash. "I'm sorry. It's just, being in the fashion business, I—" She started laughing again. Allison smiled, but did not join in the laughter. She was starting to feel a bit sorry for Andy after all the shit she gave him earlier about his outdated attire.

Brian smothered a grin. "I wasn't going to say anything, but yeah, that outfit's pretty out of date. Nobody dresses like that any more."

"Nobody," Claire seconded. "Not on this planet, anyway."

Andy sipped his Manhattan. "What is this, a comedy roast? Give me a break." He sat down on the sofa by Claire, sulking. Claire patted his knee, mindful of the pain in his worn-out joints.

"Oh, come on, Andy. You know we're just joking."

Andy sipped his beverage. "Yeah, I know." He sighed. "Believe it or not, I miss Bender as much as the rest of you. He was funny as hell, even though he crossed the line sometimes. I'll never forget how he took the rap for all of us when we couldn't make it back to the library without Vernon catching us. He saved my ass. I would've got detention again; I could've blown my ride if I missed a match for disciplinary reasons. He didn't have to do that, especially with all those extra detentions Vernon already laid on him. He was a real stand-up guy."

"Damn right," Allison said emphatically.

"I told you, you should've listened to John," Claire reminded him.

"Yeah, thanks for rubbing it in."

Brian cleared his throat. "He probably knew every nook and cranny in the whole school, as much as he ditched class." He sipped his drink sparingly, not wanting to get too drunk, even though he was hurting inside as much as the others. Brian thrived on keeping himself under control. He had always been a serious young man—a tad too serious, at times. He had learned to lighten up a bit, but deep down he was still anxious and insecure about himself. At least his mother wasn't constantly on his case any more, looking over his shoulder and breathing down his neck while he tried to do his homework. Brian hadn't even considered suicide again since the flare-gun incident. Despite his feelings of inadequacy, he was a much happier and more well-adjusted person than he used to be. He was privately proud of his progress.

Claire studied her manicured fingernails, her melancholy face mottled with red patches from the considerable amount of alcohol she had consumed. "God, I miss him so much."

Allison leaned forward and touched Claire's arm. "We all do."

"I know, but it's different for me. I was in love with him."

Andy walked up behind Claire and started massaging her shoulders. "God, you're tense," he remarked. "Let me work on your neck. That's where you carry all your tension."

"How do you know that?"

"I majored in sports medicine. I know the human body inside and out."

"What, you mean like a doctor?"

"Not exactly. More like a physical therapist." He probed Claire's neck and shoulders, determining through his sensitive fingertips where her muscles were knotted. She leaned her head forward and let Andy do his thing. She hissed a few times when he touched on pressure points that were especially tender. "Take it easy," he said, "I know what I'm doing. Lean your head forward and try to relax your neck." Claire obliged. "Good. Now, close your eyes and just concentrate on taking slow, deep breaths. It helps. This'll make you feel better. Trust me."

Allison and Brian sat in awkward silence while Andy's strong but gentle hands relieved Claire's tension headache. Claire sighed luxuriantly. "God, that feels so good."

After a few minutes, Andy patted Claire on the shoulder. "Feel better?"

Claire slowly rotated her head, mindful of any lingering stiffness. Andy had done a good job. She nodded. Andy smiled and sat down beside Brian. He didn't want to crowd Allison by sitting next to her. He knew she needed her space.

They all sat quietly for a while, nursing their drinks as they got accustomed to being together again. Allison kept expecting Vernon to come barging into the room and start yelling at everyone. It was almost surreal. If only Bender could have been there; then the reunion would have been complete. Ironically, it was his death that had reunited them.

Allison pulled her cigarette pack from her handbag and took out one of the carefully-rolled joints. "You wastoids want to blaze up?"

The others were shocked. Since Allison had declined to smoke pot with them in detention, they had all just assumed she didn't use marijuana.

"Since when do you smoke dope?" Andy asked her.

"Since I was fourteen."

Brian was perplexed. "Why didn't you get high with us in detention?"

Allison smiled ruefully. "I was too shy then. I was afraid I'd get all paranoid and freak out if I caught a buzz with you guys."

"Well, shit," Brian said enthusiastically, "fire that bad boy up!"

Allison stuck the joint in her mouth, lit it, took a long, slow puff, and passed it to Claire. Claire wasn't an experienced pot smoker, and she was hot-boxing the joint. Allison showed her how to take a proper hit without drooling all over the tip.

"Sorry," Claire said sheepishly. "I haven't smoked any grass since college." She passed the joint to Brian, who toked like a veteran pot smoker. He leaned back in his seat and exhaled slowly, his vision momentarily turning gray. "This is some good shit." It wasn't the high-octane hydroponic weed he was used to smoking, but it was still pretty damned good. He got a nice headrush off the first hit. He sighed wearily, then passed the joint to Andy.

"I haven't been stoned since high school," Andy said. "This stuff's probably gonna kick my ass."

"You don't have to smoke if you don't want to," Allison told him. "No peer pressure. Right?"

"Right," Claire and Brian agreed.

Andy brushed them off. "It's okay, I want to get high; I just don't want to get so fucked up, I don't know what's going on or what the hell I'm doing."

"Then why bother?" Claire asked with a sinister grin.

Andy laughed. "Fuck it, let's get totally twisted."

Brian clapped Andy on the shoulder. "Now you're talking!"

As Andy slowly inhaled, he reflected on the changes in Brian since high school. The shy, nervous, scrawny little boy had really grown up since then. He blew out a cloud of smoke and sank back into the sofa. His head was already buzzing from one toke. "Damn, this _is_ good shit." He passed the joint to Allison. He felt an electric spark when her hand touched his, and it wasn't from static electricity. He still had the hots for her, after all.

_Damn it!_

Allison felt it too, but she didn't let it show. There was a warm glow in the pit of her stomach, and a tingling sensation in her spine. Her thighs trembled.

_Damn it!_

Brian was too busy getting high to notice, but Claire was still coherent enough to see what was happening between Andy and Allison. She pitied them. At least it took her mind off Bender and her own personal anguish.

After smoking the joint, they all lay about contentedly, absorbed in their own private thoughts. The atmosphere was a bit too grim for Claire. She needed constant stimulation to keep from feeling depressed. She noticed everyone had finished their drinks. "Anybody want a beer?" she asked.

"Sure," Brian said.

"I'll take one," Andy said, still musing about what might have been between himself and Allison.

Claire looked at Allison and smiled. "Vodka, right?"

Allison nodded. "On the rocks, please."

"What, no oh-jay?"

Allison shook her head. "Not after a day like today. If you've got a needle, I'll mainline it." She was joking, but there was an edge of pain in her voice that the others noticed. Claire went to the bar and brought back two expensive imported beers for the guys. Then she fixed Allison's drink and made herself another Jack and Coke. Claire handed Allison her drink and touched Allison's arm. Allison smiled gratefully. No words were necessary to express what they felt.

"This is seriously fucked up, man," Brian said abruptly, glowering. The others stared at him.

Claire knitted her eyebrows. "What's wrong, Brian?"

"This!" Brian waved his arms, indicating the group. "Why the fuck did it take someone having to die to get us back together again? It just feels so wrong." Tears were welling in his eyes. He wiped them away with the back of his hand. "I can't believe he's dead."

Claire leaned forward and held Brian's hand. Then, as if on cue, Allison and Andy joined in. They were all holding hands, comforting each other.

Tears were now running freely down Claire's cheeks, but her voice was steady. "We all miss him, Brian. God, I miss him so much! I'd give anything, if only—" She wiped her eyes delicately. "This sucks so bad." She sniffled.

"You should drink some water, Claire," Andy said. "You're probably getting dehydrated from crying so much. You, too, Allison."

Claire got up and filled four clean glasses from a carafe of imported mineral water. "Let's make it unanimous." They drank their water in silence. The mood was somber.

Claire gazed at Allison. "You knew him better than any of us. Tell us about him."

Allison frowned. "I don't know."

"Come on," Brian urged. "Pretty please?"

Allison managed to smile, but there was no joy in it. "Okay. Remember that Monday after detention?"

The others nodded. None of them would ever forget that Monday after detention.

"Well, John dropped out of school that day. He was flunking all his classes anyway, so he just quit. I helped him study for his GED, and then he got a job. After that, I didn't see much of him. We talked occasionally on the phone, but I was busy with school, and he was working full-time. He moved out and got an apartment. After I graduated, he let me move in with him."

Andy was surprised. "You guys lived together?"

Allison nodded. "He was the only friend I had, and I wanted to get out of my parents' house as fast as I could, so ..."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Allison was already enrolled at Shermer Community College. She had a part-time job at the school bookstore, and could help Bender pay the rent. He even offered to let her sleep in the bedroom, and he would sleep on the couch. Allison was reluctant at first, but Bender insisted. She let out a squeal when she thought about leaving her parents' house and getting her own place.

Bender helped her move. She left behind a lot of stuff. She said she didn't need it any more, that she had "moved on with her life." Bender assumed that meant she was finally past the phase of wearing the "black shit" on her eyes and dressing like a homeless bag-lady. She took her art supplies, her most cherished works, a few of her personal belongings, and the new clothes she had recently bought. She crammed everything into a musty old canvas duffel bag that had been her grandfather's when he was in the Air Force.

Allison tossed an envelope on the bed.

"What's that?" Bender asked.

"Nothing."

Allison had written a note explaining to her parents that she was moving out and going off to college. She didn't include her forwarding address or any other specific information. She didn't want her parents bothering her. She didn't know if they would even bother to read the note, and she didn't much care. She had only written it in case they ever noticed she was gone: she didn't want them calling the police and reporting her as a missing person.

Allison hefted her bulky handbag. She reached for the duffel bag, but Bender intervened. "I got it," he said gallantly, lifting the heavy duffel bag with one hand.

Allison didn't even bother saying good-bye to her parents on her way out the door. They were watching TV, their expressions blank, stoned on Valium and red table wine. Neither one took any notice of her or Bender's brief presence. Her father's expression was catatonic. Spittle dribbled from the corner of his mouth. Bender couldn't get that last image out of his mind, but prudently didn't mention it to Allison. He knew all too well how it felt to be ashamed of your own parents.

Bender placed Allison's duffel bag in the trunk of his beat-up Chevy Nova and slammed the deck lid shut. He brushed his hands together. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

"Go." Allison was already getting in the car. "Haul ass."

"Whatever you say, my dear." Bender got in, started the engine, popped the clutch, and left black rubber marks from his spinning, squalling tires all the way to the stop sign at the end of the block. After the car skidded to a halt, he winked. "Think that got their attention?"

Allison's face hardened. "I doubt it," she said with such utter disdain that even Bender felt moved by her rancor. He inserted a cassette in the tape deck beneath the dashboard and cranked up the volume to drown out the uncomfortable silence that had crept over them. The song blasting from the speakers was AC/DC's "Hell's Bells," one of his favorites. He banged his head and belted out the lyrics in an off-key voice that made her cringe.

Allison tapped Bender's shoulder. "Would you please cut out that racket?" she hollered.

"You don't like this song?"

"No, the song's okay; I just can't stand your singing."

Bender was pissed at first. Then, smiling diabolically, he turned up the volume all the way and shouted the lyrics at the top of his lungs. She put her hands over her ears and screamed.

Satisfied he had made his point, he turned the volume down to a normal level. Allison sighed relievedly. "Thank God."

"Come on, Klepto, admit it. You had a good time at that party I took you to, right?"

Bender had finally taken Allison to one of his infamous "heavy-metal vomit parties." She had agreed to go, much to his surprise, curious to meet some of his dope-fiend buddies. She already knew a couple of them. There weren't too many he felt safe introducing to her. Bender was extremely protective of Allison. Despite her withering gaze, which was quite formidable, she was fragile and easily wounded. Bender wasn't about to let some punk do anything to hurt her. She was like a kid sister to him.

"Well, it's not really my scene, but it was a cool experience. Mostly I had a good time because I was there with you."

Bender cleared his throat. He peered at her from the corners of his eyes. "Really?"

"Yeah. You were having so much fun, I just got swept away with all the good vibes."

Bender suddenly became sexually aroused. His cheeks flushed. Allison asked him if he was all right.

"Oh yeah, I'm good to go."

While staring at him, she noticed the bulge in his crotch. "Oh my god." She covered her mouth with her hand.

Bender grinned bashfully. "Hey, don't take it personally. Shit happens. I don't have any control over it."

Allison rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

"What's the matter? You scared Sport-o is gonna find out, get all jealous, and come back and try to kick my ass?"

She blew her bangs out of her eyes. "Jealous, of you? In your dreams, low-life." She glared at him. "Just what the hell were you thinking, mister? Get me to move in with you, then try to fuck me?"

Bender hung his head. "You're not a man, you don't understand how these things work," he said quietly, clearly embarrassed. "That's why a lot of times in school, when a teacher tells a boy to go to the chalkboard, he doesn't want to get up, because everybody in the class will see he's got a boner and they'll all laugh at him."

Allison still wasn't convinced. "You mean your—boner—has nothing to do with me?"

He crossed his heart. "I swear, I wasn't trying to hit on you. It's just that sometimes, mister happy likes to pop up unannounced. It's like he's got a mind of his own."

She gave him a stern look. "So I've heard."

He leaned forward angrily. "What! Who said that about me?"

"It's not about you," she sneered. "I just meant men in general. I think it's because when they get a boner, all the blood rushes to their dicks and deprives their brains of badly-needed oxygen."

Bender sat back and chuckled. "It's what we call letting your little head do the thinking for your big head. Whenever a situation gets to def-con four, cock command takes control. After that, there's only one option: total sexual annihilation." He waggled his eyebrows. "Want to know how many megatons are in my warhead?"

Allison grimaced. "No thanks. Nuclear warfare isn't something to joke about, you know. Some crazy people could blow up the whole world, if they wanted to. Just the thought of it makes me feel all freaked out."

"What are you talking about? You freaked out years ago, you mental case."

She punched his shoulder and gave him "the look." "You're such an asshole sometimes."

Bender flipped his hair with a toss of his head. "That's part of my charm," he said cockily.

Allison curled her lip. "Please! Save that shit for the prom queen, you degenerate."

Bender smirked. "Yeah, right. You're in love with Sport-o, the mighty wrestler who rolls around on the floor clutching other guys' sweaty bodies close to his, all the while wearing tights, no less. Yep, you sure know how to pick 'em, all right."

"What about you?" Allison retorted. "You really thought Claire was gonna give up her lifestyles-of-the-rich-and-famous, Barbie-doll-princess life for you? Get real."

Bender hung his head, letting his long hair obscure his face. Allison immediately regretted what she said. She touched his arm. "Hey, I didn't mean that. It's just—well, fuck it, it doesn't matter. I'm sorry for what I said. Okay?"

He surprised her by grinning. "You know what, Psycho?"

She stared at him warily. "What?"

"You and I are a lot alike."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means we both don't take any shit."

"It means we're both fucked up. We're just projecting our own fears because we think when someone gets close to us they're gonna hurt us, so we try to make the first move so we feel like we're taking control of the situation so we don't get hurt again. It's because of all this pent-up rage we have inside."

Bender winked. "See! I told you we're a lot alike."

Allison raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, but you don't drink vodka. Or do you?"

"I'm a Jack Daniels man, myself. Vodka's for commies."

"I'm not a communist," Allison said primly. "I just like vodka because it's colorless and odorless, so I can concentrate on the burn. It makes me feel ... cleansed. It makes me feel numb inside, and all the pain goes away. The only problem is, when I sober up, the pain comes right back, worse than ever."

"That's fucked up."

Allison smiled. "When Sport-o and I went to get soft drinks from the teachers' lounge, he started hitting on me. He asked me what I like to drink. I told him I drink vodka, tons of it."

"That's probably the one thing you weren't bullshitting about that day."

"No, I told the truth one other time."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"When?"

"When I admitted I'm a compulsive liar." They both burst out laughing.

"Lucky for you, you gave me my switchblade back, before I had to beat it out of you."

"Hey! I was afraid you were really gonna stab Andy."

Bender glanced at her. "No shit?"

"No shit."

Bender chuckled at the thought. He had only meant to scare Andy by showing him the knife. "Hey," he said, leaning in close to her, "do you really fuck your shrink?"

She stuck out her chin. "Of course not! But I would ... if I loved him." She gave him a sly grin. Her liquid brown eyes, which were the color of chocolate milk, scintillated.

Bender shook his head. "You're a trip, Reynolds. Hanging out with you is like dropping acid. You must drive that fucking shrink of yours batshit."

"That's what my parents pay him for." Allison lit a cigarette, her eyes narrow and distant. "That way they don't have to talk to me."

"Hey. Klepto." He gazed soulfully into her eyes. "Don't let it get you down, all right. Shit, I wish I didn't have to talk to my old man ... that fucking asshole."

She sagged in her seat. "That bad, huh?"

"Bad enough, but nothing I can't handle."

"Mister tough guy," Allison mocked him. "Face it, Bender, we've all got issues. Even your precious red-headed princess has issues."

Bender gave her a hard look, but even he couldn't beat Allison in a stare-down contest. She was immobile. Finally he relented and said, "Just leave her out of this."

"Fine." Allison folded her arms over her chest and stared out the window, sulking.

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

xxx

"You actually went to one of John's heavy-metal vomit parties?" Claire asked incredulously.

Allison nodded.

Brian grinned. "What was it like?"

"Totally insane. John never left my side. He was like an over-protective big brother. He snarled at every guy that looked at me. He even took me into the mosh pit. I was scared shitless! Everyone was slamming into each other like a hockey game. It was a trip. I was glad to get out of there alive."

Andy cleared his throat. "Is that where you met that guy Ace?"

"No, I'd already met him before. He used to hang around the apartment a lot. He was about the only real friend John had, besides me."

"He looks like a scumbag," Andy said disdainfully.

"Nah, he's a nice guy, really. He grew up a couple houses down from John. They'd known each other since they were little kids. John used to sleep over at Ace's house when his dad got out of control and started beating him up. Spider used to hang out with us, too. We'd all get stoned and watch TV and scarf down deep-dish pizza. We always watched the Chicago Bears games. John was so happy when they won the Super Bowl that one year."

Andy smiled. "I remember that. Yeah, it was the '85 season. They were unstoppable that year. It was pretty awesome. Too bad they suck now."

"Remember that video they made, 'The Super Bowl Shuffle?'" Allison giggled. "God, that was so lame!"

Andy nodded, grinning. "Yeah, I remember."

"Speaking of pizza," Brian said, "I've got a bad case of the munchies."

"Me, too," Andy said. "It's been a long time since I've had real Chicago-style deep-dish pizza."

"Did anybody eat dinner?" Claire asked. The others shook their heads. "Me neither. We can order some food from room service."

Andy scratched his ear. "Like what?"

Claire handed him the room-service menu. "Get whatever you want. My treat."

"Hey, Claire," he said, reaching for his wallet, "you don't have to do that."

"It's okay, you guys. Seriously."

Allison touched Claire's arm. "You sure?"

Claire nodded, smiling.

Brian sidled over next to Andy and studied the menu. He was starving. "I don't know what to get. It all sounds so good."

"Don't be an asshole," Andy said grumpily. He gave Brian a playful smack on the arm. Much to his surprise, Brian responded in kind. Andy gawked at Brian. "Damn, you've really changed a lot, man. The old Brian would've been too scared to even think about touching me."

Brian grinned. "Yeah. Well, I guess we've all changed a lot since high school, huh?"

"I hope so," Claire said.

Allison smiled mysteriously. "It's unavoidable. We all grew up. It happens to everybody, sooner or later."

"What about John?" Claire's face was pale. "Did he ever change?"

"Oh, sure. He was a lot happier once he moved out of his parents' house. Me, too. I felt like I was dying a slow death in that place, slowly suffocating, like I was drowning."

"Yeah, but did your heart die?"

Allison was surprised Claire still remembered that line. "I hope not. When I heard about John's—accident—I felt like something deep inside me died." She took hold of Claire's hand. "Having you guys here with me helps a lot. I don't know if I could've made it through the—funeral—alone."

A single tear trickled down Claire's face. "That was really sweet of you to help Mrs. Bender."

Allison shrugged. "Somebody had to. I worry about her. She's all alone now. I hope she'll be all right."

"You know, you're a real people person," Brian said.

Allison smiled crookedly. "Me, a people person. Oh, the irony! Who would've guessed?"

"Doesn't surprise me," Andy said. "You saw right through me way back in high school."

Allison patted his knee. "Honey, you aren't that hard to figure out—no offense. Most men aren't."

Andy could feel sweat beading on his upper lip and the palms of his hands. It sounded so natural and so right when Allison called him "honey." That was what his wife called him. He was torn between feelings of guilt and desire.

"Oh, come on, Alli," Claire said, "you know what we mean. You're very sensitive and insightful. You know, out of all of us, I've always admired you the most."

Allison hung her head shyly. "You're just saying that."

"No, really. Swear to God."

Allison looked at her. "How come?"

"Because you're true to yourself. You are who you are, and you don't care what other people think. I wish I could be that way."

"Me, too," Andy said. "Seriously."

Brian shuffled his feet. "I've never known anyone else quite like you," he told Allison. "You're one of a kind."

"You mean one in a million," Andy clarified.

Allison was embarrassed. "God! What is this? Why are you being so nice to me?"

Claire smiled. "Because you're letting us."

They both giggled. Andy and Brian stared at each other, confused by the girls' private joke.

Claire clapped her hands once and rubbed them together briskly. "Come on, let's get something to eat."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

"God damn, I'm stuffed." Brian set his fork down and belched. "Excuse me."

Claire grinned. "Must've been pretty good, huh?"

Brian nodded and sipped his soda. "Only thing is, eating always kills my buzz."

"You're in luck." Allison pulled out the other joint from her cigarette pack.

Brian's eyes widened. "Allison, you're a lifesaver!"

Andy wrinkled his forehead. "When did you get to be such a stoner?"

"Like I said, I've been getting high since I was fourteen. It's no big deal. It's not like I snort blow or shoot up smack. It's just weed."

"You and Big Bri are a couple of real potheads, huh?" Claire joked.

"Hey, I only do it on weekends," Brian said defensively. "And that's only if I don't have a date or something else already planned."

"Same here," Allison said. "It's not like I'm stoned off my ass all the time. I certainly don't go to work high."

"It's okay, I'm not judging anybody." Claire put the empty plates on the serving cart and moved it out of the way.

Andy had a pensive look on his face. "What's the matter?" Claire asked him. "You look like you've got something on your mind."

Andy drummed his fingers nervously on the table. "I was just thinking about what Allison said earlier."

Allison arched an eyebrow. "What?"

"You said Bender made you promise to get us all back together again if he died."

"So?"

"It's like he knew he was gonna die young. That freaks me out."

Allison nodded. "Yeah. John always said he felt like he was doomed, like there was a black cloud hanging over him all the time."

"Oh, god," Claire said dourly.

"It's like Brian said earlier," Andy continued. "Why did it take someone dying to get us back together again?"

Claire sat down on the sofa, folding her long legs underneath her. She sighed. "I don't know. I guess we all just got caught up in our own personal lives. You have to admit, it is kind of weird, us being together again like this after all these years."

"Not all of us," Allison said dismally. The others nodded.

Andy pounded his fist in the palm of his hand. "We should've done this years ago! I keep thinking, maybe—maybe if we did—maybe he'd still be alive now."

Brian shook his head. "Don't go down that road, dude. It only leads to the dark side. That's a bad place to be. Trust me, I know."

Allison hugged herself, a coping technique she developed as a child. "You know, I think he was the best of us. I mean, look at the shit sandwich life handed him. He never had a chance."

"Poor guy," Andy lamented. "I wish I could've shaken his hand and let bygones be bygones." His broad shoulders sagged. Claire patted him on the back.

"You've got to play the hand you're dealt," Brian mused.

Allison stared at him. "What does that mean?"

"It means, life isn't fair. Sometimes bad things happen to good people. And John was a good person, despite all the shit he had to put up with. I just wish I had the chance to do it all over again. I wish I could've gotten to know him better. I wish I'd been friends with him like you were."

"Yeah," Andy said. "Remember how he took the rap for all of us when we were running through the halls, trying to avoid getting caught by Vernon?"

Brian squinted. "Wait, didn't we already talk about that before?"

Andy scratched his head. "Maybe. I'm pretty stoned. Still, the point is, he didn't have to do that. He sacrificed himself to save the rest of us."

Claire's lower lip was trembling. "That just goes to show you what kind of man he really was." She put her arm around Allison, who was crying silent, bitter tears. "He deserved better."

"Damn right," Allison said forcefully.

Brian leaned forward, clasping his hands like he was about to pray. "I think we should make a vow to stay in touch from now on. That's the best way I can think of to honor his memory."

"I agree," Andy said. "Let's exchange phone numbers and addresses so we can stay in touch."

"Maybe we can get together once in a while, like now," Claire said.

"Yeah, but let's not wait until someone else dies before we do it." Brian was trying hard not to cry. He hated crying in front of other people, especially girls. He still had a crush on Claire, although he knew in his heart they would never be anything more than friends. He had to settle for loving her from afar. Still, that was better than nothing. At least, that was how he rationalized it in his normally-pragmatic mind.

"Okay," Claire said, "but everybody has to promise not to forget. I'm serious, god damn it."

They all touched hands and vowed they would remain friends for life, no matter what.

Having made their pact, the atmosphere lightened up a bit. Claire looked inquisitively at Brian. "How's your sister these days?"

"She's doing really well," Brian said proudly. "She's a lawyer in Minneapolis—pretty damn good one, too. She's with a big, prestigious law firm. Believe it or not, we actually get along now."

Claire smiled. "That's great, Brian."

"Of course, my mom's always bitching us out for not calling home often enough, but hey! What can you do?"

Andy chuckled. "I know what you mean. My mom's always trying to get me to come visit. She loves the kids. I visit when I can, but I'm pretty busy most of the time."

"I hear that," Claire said. "My parents are divorced now, so if I visit one, I have to visit the other, or else I get angry phone calls." She frowned. "They're so petty and jealous, it makes me sick."

"How's your brother?" Allison asked.

Claire brightened. "Great! He lives in France now." She sighed. "I wish I lived there. One of these days," she vowed.

Andy was confused. "I thought French people hate Americans."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Why does everybody say that? They don't hate us; they just don't like our government telling them what to do. I love it over there. I spent the whole summer in France after my sophomore year in college, right after my parents got divorced. It's so picturesque. It's like a living, breathing postcard."

"That's a beautiful way to put it," Allison said.

Claire smiled. "Hey, what about your parents? I haven't heard you mention them once."

Allison shrugged. "I haven't talked to them since I moved in with John. That was, what, nine years ago?"

"Nine years!" Andy exclaimed. "Jesus, Allison! Don't you think you should give them a call sometime? They're probably worried sick about you."

"What's the point? They don't give a flying fuck about me."

Andy was unconvinced. "I don't know. If my kids disappeared without a word for nine years, I'd be pulling my hair out, worrying about them."

Allison set her jaw. "I wouldn't know what to say to them now, anyway."

"Still," Claire said, "what's right, is right. You've changed; maybe they've changed, too."

"Maybe," Allison said dubiously, "but I doubt it."

Brian cleared his throat. "So, how about firing up that joint?"

"Yeah," Claire chimed in. "What the hell are you waiting for?"

Allison grinned. "Let's blaze up, you wastoids!"

xxx

They smoked the joint and sat around talking about their hopes and dreams. Claire admitted that she was jealous of Andy because he had a family. Brian said he might settle down someday, but for now he was having too much fun being a bachelor. Andy said that marriage was just like anything else: it had its ups and its downs, so you had to work at it every day. He was the only one who seemed happy with his life. He didn't tell them that seeing Allison again had stirred up a lot of old feelings.

Claire suggested they reveal their birth dates. It would give them another reason to stay in touch. The others thought that was a great idea. Andy was the oldest, then Claire, then Allison, and finally Brian, who had graduated valedictorian at the precocious age of sixteen.

Claire got out a CD player and played some classic 1980s music discs. The songs made them feel nostalgic, thinking about old times. "I Wanna Know What Love Is" by Foreigner hit everyone especially hard. No one felt like talking. They were too engrossed in pining for those long-lost days of youth. It seemed like only yesterday; it seemed like a million years ago. It left them feeling lachrymose and physically spent. The wake was winding down to a close. No one was in the mood for talking, particularly meaningless small talk. Besides, their silence spoke volumes. It was a long moment of silence for Bender's dear, departed soul.

After a while, Brian looked at his watch. "Well, shit. I guess I'd better wrap this up. I've got an early flight tomorrow; I'm about to pass out sitting here."

Andy yawned and stretched. "Me, too. I guess I'd better get going." He looked at each of them in turn. "It's been really great seeing you guys again. I mean it. I can't wait till the next time we get together."

Claire pointed at him. "Remember your promise, Andy. That goes for the rest of you, too."

"Yes, ma'am." Brian stood up and saluted. "I hear you, and I will obey your orders."

Claire smirked. "Very funny." She picked up her mobile phone. "I'll call the limo driver and tell him to give you guys a ride."

Brian smiled sweetly. He was pleasantly buzzed. "Thanks, Claire," he said, putting on his coat.

"Yeah, thanks." Andy zipped up his Member's Only windbreaker and took a deep breath, preparing to face the outside world again. He was wiped out from the two joints they had smoked. His blue eyes were glazed and bloodshot. His eyelids drooped in fatigue.

After Claire hung up the phone, she got up, hugged Andy, and kissed him on the cheek. He smiled bashfully. "Don't you forget about me," she warned him.

"I won't. I'll give you a call sometime."

"You'd better. Oh, and do something about your wardrobe. Seriously. That stuff is so out of style."

Andy laughed. "I will, I promise." He turned to Allison. He wasn't sure what to say. His feelings were so conflicted when it came to her, he was thoroughly flustered. "Uh, hey, uh, I, I'll call you sometime, okay?" His face reddened. He realized how awkward he must have seemed to her. To his surprise, Allison came over and gave him a hug, squeezing him as tightly as she could. Her brown eyes gazed hypnotically into his. "Maybe I'll call you sometime," she said, "if that's okay. I mean, I don't want to piss off your wife. I know I'd be jealous if I was her."

Andy was too startled to respond at first. Then he blinked, as though coming out of a trance. "No, that's cool. She knows all about The Breakfast Club. She knows about you, too, so it's cool." He smiled wistfully. "You know, if I could do it all over again—"

Allison put her finger on his lips. "Don't ruin it by talking." She smirked. "See ya, Sport-o."

Andy grinned at the mention of his old nickname. He nodded. "See ya, Klepto." He turned to Brian. "Take care, man." He held out his hand.

"Fuck that, man." Brian clutched Andy. Andy was surprised at first: he wasn't used to hugging other men. He patted Brian on the back. "Jesus! You're a hell of a lot stronger than you used to be."

Brian released his bone-crushing embrace and chuckled. He slapped Andy on the back. "Stay cool, bud."

"You got it, bro. I'll meet you downstairs." Then Andy was gone, the door closing behind him. Suddenly the room seemed a little smaller, a little quieter.

Brian cleared his throat nervously. "Well, I guess this is it—for now, anyway."

"Don't worry, we'll be seeing each other again," Claire said. "Now come here, you big lug."

Brian hugged Claire and Allison in turn, though with less force than the bear-hug he had given Andy. After releasing Allison, he checked his pockets.

"What are you doing?" she asked him.

"Making sure you didn't steal my wallet again." He grinned.

Allison punched him on the arm. "Still got that beaver shot?" She waggled her eyebrows _à la_ Bender.

"How did you know?"

They both laughed. Claire didn't get their inside joke, but she smiled anyway. The good feelings had returned, and the mood was light and fun again. Claire kissed Brian's cheek. He blushed, hoping Claire didn't realize he had become sexually aroused. Allison saw it, but she pretended not to notice. "See ya, Big Bri," she said, waving.

"Good-bye, Allison. Hey, I'll call you guys sometime. Maybe we can all meet somewhere for a big, fancy dinner or something."

"Sounds good to me." Claire escorted Brian to the door and bid him farewell. She shut the door and locked it after he left.

Allison blew her bangs off forehead. "That was a trip."

Claire went over and sat down beside Allison on the sofa. "Are you okay?" Her face was etched with concern.

"Yeah. Why?"

"You know. I saw the way you hugged Andy."

Allison felt naked and exposed. "That obvious?"

Claire nodded sympathetically. "I thought you were gonna squeeze the life out of him."

"Well, shit ... I can't help the way I feel." Allison drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her shins. She was going into her protective mode again.

"I know. It hurts pretty bad, huh?"

"Yeah, real bad, but at least I got to see him. What about you? This must be hell on you, Claire."

Claire frowned. "I feel like shit. I can't stop thinking about John." She clenched her jaw. "Damn it! I'm so sick of crying! I don't think I've ever cried this much in my whole life." The tears began to flow again. "Oh god, I wish the pain would just go away. I miss him so much."

Allison put an arm around Claire's shoulder and pulled her close. "I know, me, too." She sighed. "God, this sucks." They sat silently for a while, crying and holding each other. Eventually Allison retracted her arm and put her hands in her lap. She stared at the floor. "Damn it!" she said with such intensity that Claire became concerned.

"What's wrong?"

"I've got a guilty conscience. It's eating me up inside."

"What is it?"

Allison bit her lip. "I don't know if I should tell you."

"Why not? I'm your friend; you can tell me anything."

"Okay, but remember: you asked for it."

"Come on! Don't leave me hanging like this."

"First you have to promise not to get mad at me."

"Why?"

"Just promise me you won't get mad, then I'll tell you."

Claire sighed impatiently. "All right, I promise! Now tell me what the big secret is."

Allison shut her eyes and winced. "I slept with John."

"What!" Claire was stunned.

"It's the one and only time I ever had sex."

"Oh my god." Claire's emotional pain increased exponentially. She glared at Allison. "How could you?"

"Wait a minute. You promised you wouldn't get mad. Remember?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Besides, you had your chance with John, but you blew him off. It's not like you two were dating."

Claire felt betrayed. The hurt showed in her face and especially her eyes, which were bloodshot from crying. "Even so ... you knew how I felt about him."

Allison's harsh expression softened. "I know. I felt the same way about Andy. But you and Andy were gone, and all we had was each other."

"I thought you said you and John were just friends."

"We were."

"So?"

"So one night we were both really drunk, and it just ... happened."

"Just like that, huh?" Claire's face was burning with anger.

"Listen. We were both so lonely and heartbroken ... it only happened once."

"Like that makes it any better." Claire combed her hands through her hair and sighed. "You're right, though: it's all my own fault for rejecting him. I had my chance, and I blew it."

Allison touched Claire's knee. "I'm sorry, Claire. Maybe I shouldn't have told you, but the guilt was so unbearable, I felt like I had to tell you. You deserve to know the truth. You don't hate me now, do you?"

Claire leaned her elbow on the arm of the sofa and propped her head on her hand, pouting. "No. I'm shocked, but I don't hate you for it. That's life. Shit happens." She frowned. "Is that the only time you ever thought about having sex with John?"

Allison's heart skipped a beat. She couldn't start lying now. This was the time to confess and repent. "No," she said after a pause. "There was one other time."

Claire's eyes grew wide. "When?"

Allison scratched her head nervously. "That Monday after detention. I was so upset after I yelled at you in front of those other girls, I cut class and went to the football field. I just wanted to sit in the bleachers and be alone so I could cry in peace. There were some stoners getting high down by the concession stands, and I guess John was there and saw me, because he snuck up behind me and scared the shit out of me. We got stoned together for the first time, and—well, anyway. Long story short, I decided to skip school and go home. I asked John if he wanted to come with me, but he said he wanted to stay at school and take care of some business. I figured he was gonna confront you and Brian and Andy."

"Boy, did he ever," Claire said, recalling Bender's tirade in the lunchroom.

Allison hung her head. "I wanted to fuck him right then, to get back at you and Andy. It wasn't about John. I just wanted to hurt you and Andy because—well, you know." Allison's mouth was dry. "It was just an impulse. I was hurt, and I wanted to hurt you and Andy back. I'm glad it didn't happen, though, because that would've been wrong on so many levels. I know we both would've regretted it later."

"What about the other time?" Claire's mouth was taut. "Do you regret that?"

Allison pursed her lips. "The other time was different. Like I said, we were both drunk and lonely as hell. Neither one of us planned on something like that. It just happened, all of a sudden."

"All of a sudden," Claire said woodenly.

"I'm sorry, we never meant to hurt you." Allison gazed vulnerably at Claire. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"I guess so." Claire looked down at the floor.

"Are you sure?"

Claire nodded and looked Allison in the eye. "I forgive you."

Allison swallowed. "So, are we still friends?"

Claire forced a semblance of a smile. "Yeah, we're still friends. I can't blame you for what happened in the past. It's all right."

Allison's relief was immense. "Thank you."

Claire's fake smile broadened into a genuine grin. "So how was it?" she asked luridly.

"I don't know," Allison demurred.

"Don't cop out on me now, Alli. I already said I forgive you, so spill it. Was it good?"

"Honestly, it was kind of weird."

Claire furrowed her brow. "Weird how? Oh my god. Was John a pervert or something?"

Allison laughed, releasing her pent-up anxiety and feelings of guilt. "Oh, of course not!" She smiled distantly as she remembered. "He was really sweet, actually."

"So what was the problem?"

Allison blew her bangs off her forehead. "Well, for one thing, we were both shit-faced. It was New Year's Eve, and we were partying with some friends. No big deal, just sitting around the apartment, drinking and getting high. Later on, after everyone else left, well, one thing led to another, and—" She blushed. "You know, I so wanted it to be Andy who popped my cherry—"

"Popped your cherry?" Claire laughed. "God! You talk just like one of the guys, I swear!"

"—but Andy was gone, and so were you. Anyway, it was New Year's Eve, we were drunk as shit, and we were both so lonely that somehow we ended up kissing. One thing led to another, and the next thing I knew, we were naked on the couch, groping each other like animals."

"Was it good?" Claire asked tremulously, still feeling hurt but trying not to show it.

"It's hard to say. I mean, that's the only time I ever did it, so I don't have any other sexual experiences to compare it with." Allison massaged her temples as she felt the onset of a headache. "He was really gentle with me. I was surprised." She paused, thinking. "See, the thing is, it just didn't feel _right._ I was still in love with Andy, and John was still in love with you. I guess the chemistry just wasn't right. We were such close friends, it was almost like incest. I felt like I was having sex with my brother, in a way."

Claire covered her mouth. "Oh my god, that is so gross!"

"I know. That's why we never did it again. The next day we could hardly look at each other, we were so embarrassed." Allison wiped her forehead on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. "Maybe I shouldn't have said anything about it, after all."

Claire wrapped her arm around Allison's shoulders. "It's okay. I'm glad you told me. I just wish John was the one who popped my cherry."

Allison stared at her. They both laughed. That was when Allison finally relaxed, because she knew their friendship was strong enough to survive anything now. "Oh my god, Claire! I feel so relieved you aren't mad at me."

"Yeah, well, I'm just thankful to have you as my friend. It means a lot to me, seriously."

"Nothing like that ever happened between you and Andy, did it?" Allison cringed at the thought—although it would be poetic justice, in a way.

Claire shook her head. "No. We were just friends. We helped each other make it through graduation, but after that, we went off to college. That was the last time I saw him, till now. We still exchange Christmas cards, but that's about it." She smiled in remembrance. "Everyone at school thought we were dating. We even went to the prom together. We were voted king and queen of the senior prom. Andy said the other jocks were always asking him what I was like in bed. He kept telling them we were just friends, but they didn't believe him. He handled it really well, though. It was the same way for me, too. All the gossipy bitches wanted to know what having sex with Andy was like. They're as bad as guys, when you think about it. Bunch of sluts." She patted Allison on the back. "What about you? Are you ever gonna date anyone?"

Allison seemed to sink into the sofa. "I don't know. I think about it sometimes, but ... I don't know."

"You don't want to spend the rest of your life alone, do you?"

Allison shook her head. "It's just—it's hard, you know? It's really hard."

"I know it is, Alli, but you have to let go of the past. I'm still working on that, too—days like today sure as hell doesn't make it any easier—but at least I'm out there socializing and meeting other people. Sometimes you have to take a chance, even if it means getting hurt."

Allison snorted cynically. "Oh, please! You're just repeating the same shit I told you."

"Well, you were right. Maybe you should take your own advice."

Allison smacked her lips. "You don't know what it's like for me. I'm ... different." She blew out her breath and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. "Ah, shit."

Claire frowned in empathy. "I know how you feel, but you gotta do what you gotta do. You know what I mean?"

Allison nodded. "Yeah, I know, but ... I'm scared. I'm afraid if my heart gets broken again, I'll never be able to put it back together."

Claire touched Allison's arm. "Remember what you said in detention, about your heart dying?"

Allison nodded solemnly.

"Well, if you never let anyone get close enough to you to love you, your heart will die for sure."

Allison hung her head. Tears oozed from her eyes. "I know."

"You have to learn how to love yourself, before you can love somebody else."

Allison blew her nose in a tissue and threw it in a wastebasket. "I know. I'm still working on that." She wiped her eyes with a fresh tissue and smiled wryly. "I'm what you call a work in progress."

"We all are. You're not alone. So, what're you gonna do about your parents?"

Allison sighed. Her face was blotchy and streaked with tears. "I don't even know if they're still alive."

"You really need to talk to them. Seriously! They must be worried sick about you."

"Nah, they don't give a shit."

"How do you know? We've changed over the years. Maybe they've changed, too. It's possible."

"Maybe."

"It's worth a try." Claire lit a cigarette, got up, and went to the bar. "You want a drink?"

"I'd better not. I should probably just get going."

"Why don't you crash here tonight? I can have the limo driver drop you off after I catch my flight tomorrow."

"Are you sure? This must be costing you a fortune, Claire."

Claire shrugged. "Fuck it, it's only money."

Allison smirked. "Spoken like a true rich bitch."

Claire giggled. "Spoken like a true lunatic." She set a pair of cocktail glasses on the bar. "Come on. Let's have one more drink, then we'd better crash. It's getting late."

"All right, on one condition."

"What's that?"

"I want to go see Mrs. Bender before you leave. I want to make sure she's okay."

"Deal." Claire made Allison a Screwdriver and fixed herself a Martini. She sat back down on the couch and handed Allison the Screwdriver. "Cheers."

"Cheers."

They nursed their drinks, savoring their companionship. Allison was grateful she and Claire had been able to clear the air and still remain friends. "I was so scared to tell you about me and John, you know, doing it. I thought you'd kill me if you knew."

Claire nodded. "I'll bet." She sipped her Martini, ruminating. "Besides, he must've fucked a million different girls. Remember all those pictures he had in his wallet?"

Allison grinned. "That was total bullshit. John didn't even know most of those girls."

"What?"

Allison explained Bender's picture scam. Claire rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "I should've known." She stubbed out her cigarette in an ornate ashtray.

Allison nodded. "Yep. He was a compulsive liar."

"Takes one to know one."

They both laughed. Warmth flowed from them like perspiration on a hot summer day. "I never told anyone that before," Allison said. "He made me promise not to." She finished the rest of her drink in one gulp. "I guess it doesn't matter now, though."

"I guess not," Claire said glumly, "but I'm glad you told me." She downed her Martini and set the empty glass on the table, then belched. "Pardon me," she said daintily.

Allison smiled deviously. "Pretty crude behavior for such a pristine girl. Where are your manners, young lady? Were you raised by social misfits?"

"You mean like us?"

"Exactly."

Claire started laughing boisterously and couldn't stop. Allison stared at her. "Oh, come on, it wasn't that funny. You don't have to humor me."

Claire shook her head, still laughing. "No, it's not that. I was just thinking about when we were dancing in detention. Remember when you collapsed face-down in front of that statue? You looked like you were having a seizure!"

Allison giggled. They were both pretty drunk. "Yeah, well, I guess I don't have your natural grace and poise."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Please!"

"No, really. You're a good dancer. You've got great moves."

Claire batted her eyelashes. "Thanks."

Allison smiled. "Remember when we were doing the twist on top of that wooden railing?"

"Yeah. I'm surprised we didn't fall and break our necks. I was pretty wasted. That was the first time I ever got stoned, you know."

"What about Andy? He totally lost his shit."

"Yeah he did. I've never seen him act like that before. He was blown."

"Brian, too."

Claire laughed. "Oh my god! He's an even worse dancer than you."

"Thanks a lot, Cherry."

Claire's smile faded. "Please don't call me that. Only one person ever called me that."

Allison felt like she had just thrown cold water on their good time. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It's just—well, I'm still trying to get used to the idea that none of us will ever see him again ... not in this life, anyway."

Allison tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "Are you religious?"

"Not really, but I'd like to think there's an afterlife. It's a nice idea. I don't know if I believe in it or not, but it's still a nice idea. What about you, are you religious?"

"No, but I think I'm a spiritual person. I feel like I'm in harmony with Nature."

"You mean, like a witch or something?" Claire joked.

"No, seriously. Some people believe in reincarnation. What do you think?"

Claire shrugged. "I don't know. I've never really thought about it before. I suppose it's possible, but who knows?" She sighed. "That's what sucks about religion. You have to wait till you die before you find the answer. That's such a rip-off."

"Life's a rip-off."

Claire nodded. "Yeah, I know. Even so, I'll still take life over death any day."

"Fucking A." Allison scratched her chin. "I feel really close to you now. I always wanted to have a sister."

"Me, too."

Allison held Claire's hand. "Well, you do now."

Claire smiled. There were tears in her eyes again, but these were tears of joy. "Thanks, Alli."

"Hey, what are friends for, right?"

They hugged each other tightly. "I love you. You know that, right?"

Allison nodded, smiling. "I love you, too, Claire."

"Well." Claire put her hands on her thighs and stood up, swaying slightly. Her knees popped like firecrackers. "Whoa! I shouldn't have got up so fast."

"Are you okay?"

"Oh, sure. I just got a little dizzy for a moment. I'm okay now."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Claire checked to see that the door was locked. "We'd better get some sleep, my dear. Tomorrow's gonna be another long day—for me, at least. I have to jet back to The Big Apple."

"Hey, I've always wondered: Why do people call it that?"

Claire paused, thinking about the question. "I don't know. It's a New York thing, I guess."

Allison rubbed her eyes. "Shit! I'm bushed. Let's call it a night."

"Okay. I'm gonna go brush my teeth and pee."

Allison curled her lip. "Too much information."

Claire smirked. "Maybe I'll take a shit while I'm at it and stink up the bathroom for you."

"Thanks a lot!"

Claire slapped Allison's arm with the back of her hand. "You can take a shower, if you want. I'm gonna wait and take one in the morning."

"I'll just wait and take a shower when we get up, too. My head's spinning so bad right now, I'd probably slip in the tub and break my neck."

"I guess you didn't bring a change of clothes with you."

Allison shook her head. "I wasn't planning on spending the night."

"Oh well. You can wear something of mine, if you want. I brought plenty of clothes."

"Thanks, but I'll just wear the same clothes I've got on. They're clean. I just put them on before I came over."

"All right then." Claire rubbed her eyes. "Time to hit the sack."

Allison yawned. "Definitely."

"You can use my toothbrush, if you want."

"Ew!" Allison pretended to be disgusted. "I don't want to get cooties."

Claire shook her head, grinning. "Same old Allison."

"Same old Claire." Allison yawned again. "Jesus Christ! I'm so wiped out, I might fall asleep here on the couch."

Claire snapped her fingers. "That reminds me. I'd better call the front desk and schedule a wake-up call. What time do you want get up?"

"When does your flight leave?"

"One-thirty."

Allison glanced at her watch. "How about ten o'clock? Will that leave you enough time? Remember, we have to go see Mrs. Bender before you leave."

Claire covered her mouth, stifling a yawn. "Better make it nine-thirty, just in case. I still have to check my bags and all that shit."

"Works for me."

Claire called the front desk and placed her request for a wake-up call. Allison lit a cigarette. After ringing the night clerk, Claire went to the bathroom and got ready for bed. When she came out, Allison was sleeping soundly on the sofa. Claire smiled. Allison looked so innocent and childlike, lying there curled up in a ball. Claire took a blanket from one of the beds and laid it over Allison. Then she bent down and kissed Allison's forehead.

"Good night, baby girl," she whispered.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

The sun was setting on the quaint little Alpine village where Claire and Bender lived. The nights got chilly at this altitude, but during the day the sunshine warmed the valley. Sitting in lounge chairs on the second-floor veranda of their villa, they gazed out at the valley below. The leaves were just starting to change color. Their blazing hue made Claire think about her hair, which had once been flaming red, but was now a dull gray. It made her feel bittersweet. She was getting older, but at least she and Bender were growing old together. Bender was still a boy at heart, an aging juvenile delinquent with brilliant white streaks in what little was left of his once magnificent mane of hair. Still, it was a good life: Claire wouldn't change a thing.

Their children had gone to boarding school in France and were all grown up now, with nascent families of their own. Everyone except Bender was fluent in French. He refused to even try to learn it, although he did understand certain words and phrases. After all, you couldn't live in France and not pick up some of the language. Claire found his obstinacy oddly endearing. Her man had always been a rebel.

Claire was a fashion designer in Paris, where she kept an apartment, but her home was here. Down in the village, Bender owned a custom-furniture shop. He made all sorts of things from wood. He had always preferred working with his hands. He didn't earn a lot of money, but he was happy. His mind was finally at peace. He had his Cherry, and life was good. He just wished he didn't have to go all the way to Paris for a Big Mac and fries. French people poured mayonnaise on their fries. Bender thought that was disgusting. He liked spicy French mustard, _quiche_ (which shocked Claire), and fresh _baguettes,_ but he still refused to eat _cuisses de grenouille_ or _escargots._ You had to draw the line somewhere.

Claire's bountiful income—as well as the generous endowment she inherited after her parents died—allowed them to live in the most expensive house in the region. It was situated halfway up a low mountain, keeping watch over the village below in the valley. Terraced rows of grape vineyards extended from beneath the villa to the edge of town. Their backyard consisted of exquisite gardens with winding footpaths, shaded water ponds, pagodas, and elaborate statuary sculptures. Further up the mountain was an old castle, but no one lived in it. Their children had enjoyed countless hours playing in the decaying fortress looming above their sprawling estate like a steadfast sentinel.

Bender got up without saying a word and went inside. He came back shortly with a pair of blankets and lay one over Claire. She smiled fondly.

"_Merci très beaucoup, mon amour._"

Bender bowed with a flourish. "Anything for my beloved queen." He sat down, covered himself with a blanket, and opened another bottle of vintage red wine, made from grapes grown in their own vineyards. First he filled Claire's glass, then poured a measure for himself. They sat there as darkness spread across the valley, warm and cozy under their blankets, sipping wine and daydreaming. Claire had never felt so content in her entire life. She reached over and clasped his hand.

"Thank God we didn't turn out like our parents," she said.

"No shit."

Bender had always been afraid he would become just like his father, but that was not the case. Claire had a calming effect on him. He had disciplined their children when they misbehaved, but he had never brutalized them, and he had always made sure they knew he loved them with all his heart. Claire was so proud of him, it made her weep at times.

"I'm the luckiest woman in the world," she reflected. "I've got all this, and you by my side. What more could a girl ask for?"

Bender smiled but didn't say anything. He still tended to keep his thoughts to himself. He was, after all, a man.

"Plus you haven't cheated on me once in all these years."

Bender leered at her. "That just means you never caught me."

Claire slapped him playfully on the shoulder. "You're such an asshole—the world's oldest teenager. I can't believe you still listen to heavy metal. God! That head-banger stuff is so _ancient._"

Bender shrugged. "What can I say? I like the classics. Why, in this day and age, I'm something of a Renaissance man."

"More like a throwback to prehistoric times," she kidded him. "Oh! And now you're losing all your hair, too. Poor John." She gave him a look of pity that she knew would infuriate him. By now, after so many years of living together, she had learned how to push all his buttons.

"Hey, that's not fair! I can't help it. It's not like I have any choice in the matter, you know."

"I know."

"Do you actually think I want to go bald?"

"Of course not." Claire smiled piquantly. "On the other hand, it gives you one more thing to bitch about."

Bender sighed irritably and downed the rest of his wine. "That's it! If all you're gonna do is pick on me, I'm going inside." He waggled his eyebrows. "Care to join me, _madame?_"

"_Certainement, monsieur, s'il vous plaît._"

Bender stood up and held out his hand. Claire took hold of his hand and they went inside through the balcony doors. Bender closed the doors and locked them. They were settling in for a cold night; there was an invitingly warm fire already burning in the hearth.

They walked hand-in-hand downstairs and made love on a beautiful Persian rug laid out in front of the fireplace. Afterwards, they cuddled on the couch, covered up by thick wool blankets, watching the flickering embers. They sipped expensive champagne and resumed their long-running dispute about the relative merits of installing a heated whirlpool bath. Bender was all for it, but Claire was afraid it would spoil the villa's unique charm. She was starting to give in, though. The idea of soaking in a hot tub in the middle of an Alpine winter appealed to her romantic side. Also, being naked outdoors had always given her a secret, delicious thrill. It had taken a while for her to get over her embarrassment and go topless on the French beaches, wearing only a bikini bottom, but that was when she was still a nubile young beauty. There were totally nude beaches as well, but she had never been able to strip down all the way in public. It made her feel like a prude, but Bender had been secretly glad. He hated the idea of other men—especially horny Frenchmen—scoping out his Cherry.

After a while they went up the stairs, holding hands, and got in bed, not even bothering to put on pajamas. Claire enjoyed sleeping in the nude: it felt so sensual and forbidden. Bender was happy any time Claire was out of her clothes and in bed with him. They drifted off to sleep as the wind howled in the creaking eaves of the old villa.

Claire slept soundly, feeling secure with her man beside her. She rolled over to snuggle up against him and felt—

Nothing.

Claire awoke with a gasp, her heart pounding like a jackhammer. It was all just a dream, then.

Claire groaned. It seemed so real. She wanted to live in that imaginary world forever. Her heart ached with grief, despair, and self-pity.

_Why did it have to turn out this way? Why, damn it!_

Claire heard a soft snoring sound and looked around the darkened room. The only light came from the crack under the bathroom door. Allison had gotten up to pee, then crawled under the covers of the spare bed. She was sound asleep.

Claire pressed the light button on her Rolex wristwatch. It was only one o'clock in the morning, but it seemed a lot later. She sighed. This was going to be another long, lonely night. She got out of bed, went to the sofa, sat down, and lit a cigarette. The dream was still lingering in her mind. It had all been so vivid, so perfect ... but still only a dream. Bender was still rotting in his freshly-dug grave, and she would never see him again. Ever.

Claire was too emotionally drained to cry any more. She just sat there, wallowing in misery, trying to get it out of her system so she could move past it and get on with her life. People died every day, but life went on without them. The bleakness of such a thought struck her like a stone. Fortunately, she was so numb, she was practically impervious to pain.

After sitting in the dark a while, thinking about her life, Claire got up and went back to bed. She even managed to fall asleep again—finally—but she did not dream.

xxx

The ringing telephone startled Claire. She awoke fearful and disoriented. Then she snapped out of it and answered the phone. It was her nine-thirty wake-up call.

She kicked off the covers, rolled over, and sat on the edge of the bed, giving herself time to wake up. Bits and pieces of the dream came back to her in a series of mental pictures, like a slideshow. The valley was real; so was the hillside home. She had ridden through that region on a train, marveling at the breathtaking beauty of the charming Alpine village, and the grandeur of the estate house overlooking the valley. The crumbling castle was there, too, far above at the peak of the mountain, dizzyingly high and remote. She remembered thinking at the time how wonderful it would be to live in that centuries-old villa with its lovely gardens, terraced vineyards, and majestic view.

Claire switched on the lamp by her bed and got up. The light shone on Allison. She writhed a bit, smacked her lips, then raised her head and looked around slowly, her brain still groggy with sleep. She blinked her bloodshot eyes and made an expression of disgust.

"My mouth tastes like shit," she croaked.

"Tell me about it," Claire said moodily. "I've been drinking way too much lately."

Allison yawned. "Me too, but you can hardly blame us, given the circumstances. As long as it doesn't become a habit, we'll be okay." She put a hand on her forehead and moaned. "Oh god, I've got such a hangover."

"Same here." Claire was gazing vacantly out the window.

Allison rubbed her eyes and regarded Claire. "Hey, are you all right?"

Claire just stood there, staring off into space. Then she hung her head wearily and sighed. "I had a dream." Her voice was low and phlegmy. She covered her mouth and coughed, clearing her throat. "Ugh!" she said in revulsion. The taste of snot nauseated her.

Allison sat up, looking intently at Claire. "What was it about?"

"Oh—nothing. It doesn't matter." Claire waved dismissively.

"No, dreams are important. I've been to several shrinks, and they all said the same thing: dreams _are_ important."

Claire crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't to talk about it," she mumbled. "Okay?" She looked beseechingly at Allison. Her eyes begged for mercy.

Allison backed off. "Okay. If you don't want to talk about it, that's totally cool. I understand." She threw off the covers and got out of bed.

Claire poured herself a glass of tap water and swished it around in her mouth, then spat in the wet bar's sink. "That's better." She got some ice cubes from the small refrigerator and filled her glass with mineral water. "You want some water, Alli?"

"Sure, why not." Allison had never much liked being called "Alli"—she preferred her full name, instead of the shortened, informal nickname—but for some reason, it was different with Claire. She liked it when Claire called her "Alli." It was what her sister would have called her—if she actually had a sister. Of course, Claire was her sister now, but not by blood. In a way, that made their relationship easier. A real sister would have vied futilely with Allison for the attention and approval of their parents. Claire couldn't care less about that. They weren't in competition with each other for anything, which meant they could focus on their friendship, cultivating it like tenacious gardeners.

Claire handed Allison a glass of mineral water.

"Thanks." Allison sipped. The cold water refreshed her sour mouth. It also washed some of the fuzz off her tongue. She hated that sensation of having a mouthful of snot. It was so slimy and gross. It felt like there was fur growing on her taste buds. The mental imagery that thought conjured up made her nauseous.

They showered, got cleaned up, and put on their underwear. They stood beside each other in the spacious hotel bathroom, fixing their hair and applying makeup. Claire maveled at Allison's gracile physique, so slender, yet toned from years of a grueling yoga regimen. "You're so petite," she said with a trace of envy. "Guys love that."

"Oh, bullshit. They love long-legged women with curvy hips, huge breasts, and double-digit IQ's. Besides, aren't all the famous models abnormally tall?"

Claire scrunched up her face in concentration. "I wouldn't call them abnormally tall—that's a bit of an exaggeration—but it's basically true. I'm fairly tall—for a girl—but I'm right about at the borderline. Any shorter than me and you can forget about being a model. Anyway, I'm not a model: I'm a fashion designer and consultant."

"I guess I'm way too short to be a model." Allison couldn't picture herself as a fashion model. That kind of life would have bored her to death. No wonder so many models took all sorts of drugs and had serious eating disorders and issues with their self-esteem. Even wealthy, attractive celebrities who had everything—glamourous, high-paying jobs; the adoration of millions of people; and living in the lap of luxury and wretched excess—had troubles of their own. Money couldn't buy you love and happiness. Love was a rare, priceless gem, to be cherished forever by those lucky few who managed to find it. It was a lot harder to get than money, and much more valuable, in the long run.

"Yeah, but you've that got slender body-type designers love. You're beautiful, Alli. Don't sell yourself short—no pun intended. Besides, smaller men prefer petite girls. It makes them feel insecure if they have to look up at you."

Allison thought of Andy, who was approximately the same height as she was, as though they had been made to fit each other. "I know what you mean," she said, concealing her lust behind an inscrutable mask.

After dressing, they went downstairs to the hotel restaurant to eat breakfast. Claire wanted to relax and get out of the room for awhile before she started packing. They were seated by a pretty young waitress—_much prettier and younger than me,_ Claire thought jealously.

They browsed their breakfast menus. "What are you gonna get?" Allison was in the mood for chocolate-chip pancakes with maple syrup and bacon—tons of bacon.

Claire wasn't very hungry. She tossed her menu on the table and frowned. "I don't know. Maybe I'll just order a Continental breakfast. I don't have much appetite."

After ordering, they sat quietly, smoking cigarettes and sipping hot coffee. Allison was becoming concerned about Claire's melancholia. She had never seen Claire so bummed out. Now that Bender's funeral was over, it was time to put the past in perspective and move on. Of course, that was much easier said than done. If Andy had died instead, Allison had no idea how she would have handled the situation. She wished she could do something to soothe Claire's emotional turmoil. She set her fork down and gazed steadily at Claire.

"Do you feel like talking about that dream you had last night?"

Claire shook her head. She had only taken taken two bites from her _croissant_, but she put it down and pushed her plate away. "I don't feel like eating right now," she said languidly. Her dark eyes were two narrow slits. They locked on to Allison's like a guided-missile tracking radar. "I don't feel like talking about my dream, either."

"Okay, Claire." Allison reached across the table and squeezed Claire's hand. "Hey, I'm not trying to be nosy or anything. I'm just worried about you. I hate seeing you like this, all down and out. Been there, done that. All it does, is lead you into a downward spiral." She paused. "You're my friend; I love you. I'm just trying to help."

"I know," Claire said torpidly. "I appreciate the thought, I really do, but it's not something I want to talk about, with you or anyone else. It's too personal."

"I understand." Allison reminded herself that she hadn't mentioned that eponymous cassette tape Mrs. Bender had given her, or the song that Bender had written specifically for her. That, too, was something too personal to share. Allison had kept the song a secret, so it was only fair if Claire felt the same way about her dream. Still, Allison couldn't help wondering what Claire's dream was about. She assumed it involved Bender. Claire was understandably reticent. The shock and pain of losing Bender was still too raw and visceral.

_Poor Claire._

Allison squeezed Claire's hand again, then let go. Claire smiled gratefully, her eyes red and puffy.

They finished eating in silence, then went upstairs to get ready to leave.

xxx

Claire managed to cram all her stuff into two large suitcases and locked the clasps. She sighed. "Well, I guess that's everything." She picked up her mobile phone and looked inquiringly at Allison. "You ready?"

Allison nodded, shrugging her unwieldy handbag onto her shoulder. "Ready when you are."

Claire called the chauffeur. He came upstairs, carried Claire's luggage downstairs, and loaded it in the trunk of the limousine while Claire checked out at the front desk. Afterwards, Allison and Claire exited the hotel, got aboard the limousine, and buckled their seatbelts.

"What's her address again?" Claire asked.

Allison told the chauffeur Mrs. Bender's street address and the big vehicle pulled away from the curb. Allison looked back at the Airport Marriott. She had never stayed in such an opulent hotel before. This trip must have cost Claire a small fortune, with the limousine on-call all weekend, multiple room-service orders, and everything else. Claire was accustomed to living the good life. Allison didn't feel envious of Claire, though: Claire was just as lonesome and unhappy as Allison, if not more so. They were quite a perplexing pair, the princess and the basket case. Even in her wildest dreams, Allison never would have imagined that Claire Standish, of all people, would come back into her life and become a close friend and confidante—yet here they were. Life was so unpredictable; death was the only sure bet.

Then, like a light switch was flicked on inside her head, illuminating her mind, Allison realized that life was about the journey, not the inevitable destination waiting at the final stop. It was about the people you loved, the experiences you shared, good times and bad times ... in the end, everyone was fertilizer. Bender got there faster than the rest of them, but they would all be joining him eventually. She hoped Bender was in a happier place now, where he could finally relax and be himself, enjoying the peace of mind that had eluded him in life. He deserved to be at peace.

Claire smiled winsomely. "Penny for your thoughts," she said, twisting a strand of her hair.

Allison blew her bangs off her forehead. "I was just thinking about life, and death, and how it's all about the journey and the people you meet along the way ... you know, real heavy shit like that." She smirked. "I never realized I was such a philosopher till now."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah." Allison touched Claire's arm. "I was just thinking about how glad I am you came back into my life, because I really need a friend, especially now."

Claire's eyes brimmed with tears. "I was thinking the same thing," she said hoarsely.

"Anything else?" Allison asked with a ghost of a smile.

Claire nodded. "Actually, there is something else." She dabbed her eyes with a clean handkerchief. "I had this—I don't know what you'd call it—revelation, I guess. It's like, John sacrificed himself to save the rest of us."

"You mean like when he ran to the auditorium to distract Vernon while the rest of us snuck back to the library?"

"Yeah, like that. He knew we needed each other; he just needed a way to get us all back together."

Allison wrinkled her forehead. "Claire, John didn't kill himself—a drunk driver killed him. It was an accident."

"I know, but, maybe the hand of fate reached out and took him. You know: destiny, kismet, whatever you want to call it."

"So you think John's death was an act of divine intervention, to get The Breakfast Club back together again?"

"I don't know." Claire was frustrated. Her thoughts were difficult to put into words. "I just—I have to believe there was some deeper meaning to his death. At least it makes sense that way. Otherwise, he died for nothing at all. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and his luck ran out. I don't want to believe that. It's so tragic and senseless."

"You know what? Maybe you're right."

"Yeah, sure."

"No, really. I've been thinking about something Mrs. Bender said to me."

Claire was intrigued. "What did she say?"

"She said she hoped The Breakfast Club would get back together again and stay together this time. That way, at least something good would come out of all this."

"See! I'm not the only one who thinks so."

"Exactly. I'm starting to think she was right. After all, we're friends again now, and we're gonna stay that way. Right?"

"Right."

"Even if Andy and Brian blow us off, we have to stick together. We're sisters."

Claire put a hand on Allison's shoulder. "Don't worry, I won't let you down, baby girl."

Allison's chin jutted out. "Me neither, sis."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

The limousine looked incongruous parked in front of Mrs. Bender's tired, old, ramshackle domicile. After the beatings had started, she had stopped thinking of it as a home. It was just meager shelter from the elements, some walls and a roof—a roof that leaked when it rained, but a roof nonetheless, which was better than no roof at all.

She peered out the kitchen window at the storm clouds consolidating on the horizon. "Damn! It looks like another downpour's headed our way. Thank God I don't have to go anywhere."

Claire bit her lower lip fretfully. "Shit! I hope this weather doesn't delay my flight."

"I love the rain," Allison said dreamily.

"I hate the rain," Mrs. Bender said, her tone surly. "This god damn weather makes my whole body ache." She groaned. "Better take a pain pill. It's gonna get worse before it gets any better, that's for damn sure."

Allison smiled. She saw a lot of Bender's personality traits in his mother: the cynicism, the bluntness, the lacerating wit, and the ability to laugh even in the face of impending disaster. He had been his mother's boy, all right.

Mrs. Bender washed down a pill, hobbled over to the kitchen table, and gripped her cane with both hands, easing herself slowly down onto a chair. She was clearly in a great deal of pain.

Claire was concerned. "Is there anything we can get you?"

Mrs. Bender shook her head. "No, honey, I'll be fine. Just let me sit here for a while and get comfortable." She moaned. "God damn this weather! Arthritis is a real cunt, in case you girls haven't already figured that out watching me." She gasped. "I feel like a useless old cripple."

"Don't say that about yourself," Allison chided. "You're plenty useful—I sure as hell need you." She stood. "I'll make us a pot of coffee. That'll perk us up."

Allison brewed coffee while Claire chatted with Mrs. Bender. Claire didn't mention Bender; she was consciously avoiding that subject altogether. Naturally, it had to come up sooner or later.

"It's a shame things didn't work out with you and my Johnny," Mrs. Bender told Claire. "You seem like such a nice young lady—not like those tramps he was used to bumming around with. You're so sweet and pretty and charming. He should've grabbed hold of you with both hands and never let go."

Claire frowned. "I just wish he did—but I can't blame him for that. I could've grabbed him, too. Instead I let him go, like an idiot ... now he's gone forever." A single teardrop coursed down her cheek. She was too apathetic to bother wiping it off.

Mrs. Bender held out her arms. Claire went and hugged her. They both sobbed—for Bender, for their own wretched lives, for all the pain and suffering and misery and heartbreak in the world.

It turned out to be a mutually cathartic experience. In her heart, Mrs. Bender was finally able to let her dear, departed son go. She wondered where he was right now. If there really was an afterlife, she hoped he would be happy there—free at last.

Claire went back to her chair and sat down discreetly. She, too, had finally been able to let Bender go. Her heart was broken, but it would mend, in due time. She felt an enormous sense of release. It was hard, but she could live with it. Life went on, after all. Sometimes you just had to accept things in life. This was one of those times. She suddenly felt close to Mrs. Bender, like a special bond had been forged in the fires of their despair. She smiled at Mrs. Bender. Mrs. Bender winked. She felt it, too.

"Here, just a second." Claire got a pen and notepad from her purse, wrote down all the telephone numbers where she could be reached, and gave Mrs. Bender the slip of paper. "You can call me," she said, "whenever you want. Day or night."

Mrs. Bender was genuinely touched by Claire's gesture. "Why, thank you, sweetheart."

"My pleasure. Maybe someday you can tell me all about John."

Mrs. Bender smiled. "It's a deal."

Allison felt isolated and disconnected as she watched all this take place. Something had passed between Claire and Mrs. Bender, something significant. She was happy they were getting along so well, but she was also starting to feel left out. She cleared her throat noisily.

"Are you guys okay?" she asked.

"Oh, sure." Mrs. Bender lit a cigarette and took a deep puff. She nodded at Claire, who smiled brightly in response.

"Well, I'm glad everyone's feeling so chipper," Allison said in an odd tone of voice.

Mrs. Bender frowned. "What's wrong, dear?"

Allison looked at the floor. "Nothing. I was just feeling kind of left out, that's all." Her shoulders drooped in shame. "I guess I was just being childish. I'm sorry."

"Nonsense," Mrs. Bender said. "Why, I couldn't have made it through this whole ordeal without you. You're very special to me, Allison. You said you were like a sister to my Johnny. That makes you my daughter." She turned to Claire. "You're my daughter now, too, Claire. My two beautiful girls. Any mother would be overjoyed to have a pair of daughters like you two lovely young ladies. You're both so decent and classy, not slutty at all."

Allison went over and hugged Mrs. Bender. "Don't lose my phone number," she said. "Remember: any time, day or night. Okay?"

"I'll remember." She kissed Allison's cheek. "Thank you so much, for everything."

Allison tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and smiled. "I was glad to help."

The coffee pot began to whistle. Allison scooped up three coffee cups, placed them on the table, and filled them. Aromatic steam tingled her nostrils. She liked the smell of coffee more than the taste. She only drank coffee when she needed a quick energy boost. Spring water and natural fruit juices were more her style.

Claire had thoughtfully set out the sugar and powdered cream while Allison was making the coffee. "Thanks, Claire," Allison said appreciatively.

Mrs. Bender started to rise. "I'll get us some saucers and spoons."

Claire raised her hand. "Please, don't bother. I'll get it."

Mrs. Bender eased back down onto her chair. "Thank you, dear."

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Claire gazed out the window at the darkening sky. She saw tendrils of rain falling from the clouds on the horizon. "Shit! I hope my flight doesn't get canceled. I have to get back to New York. I'm supposed to be at work in the morning." She set three saucers and teaspoons on the table.

Mrs. Bender lit a cigarette and shook out the match, her arthritic joints protesting in agony. "I've never been to New York. What's it like?"

"Oh, it's wonderful!" Claire gushed, momentarily forgetting her concern about the threatening weather. "I mean, Chicago's a great city and all, it's very vibrant, but New York is so much more—I don't know. Glamorous, I guess ... sophisticated." She sighed. "I don't know. It just has a different feel than Chicago, a more cosmopolitan feel. It's wonderful, as long as you avoid the bad parts of town."

"Chicago has plenty of bad parts, too," Allison reminded her.

"Yeah, right here in this neighborhood!" Mrs. Bender said jovially, laughing.

Allison and Claire looked at each other, then both started laughing along with Mrs. Bender. Their laughter rose in pitch and volume until they finally began to wind down, breathing heavily and wiping their eyes.

"Oh, lordy, I needed that," Mrs. Bender said. "Laughter is the best medicine."

Claire was uneasy. "What brought all that on? We were losing control there for a while." She clutched her abdomen. "My stomach hurts from laughing so hard."

"It's a mental self-defense mechanism," Allison explained, "like when steam blows out of a coffee pot. We've all been under enormous stress and strain the past few days. We just needed to blow off some steam."

Mrs. Bender stared at Allison. "That's very perceptive. You're a smart young lady, Allison. By the way, I think your theory's right."

"Me, too," Claire said.

"I guess." Allison turned away, embarrassed. She wasn't used to being the center of attention. It made her feel self-conscious.

Mrs. Bender looked questioningly at Claire. Claire shrugged. Allison was moody sometimes. That was part of her complex personality. Claire tried to bail her friend out. She lit a cigarette and smiled wickedly. "She's always been a mental case," she told Mrs. Bender. "It's a miracle they haven't put her in a padded cell. She's a real space cadet."

Allison's pale face turned red with anger. But when she saw Claire's expression, she smiled malignantly. "You're such a devious bitch sometimes."

"Oh, like you're not." They started giggling again, just like before, except this time Mrs. Bender didn't join them. She was content to just sit back and watch the two girls tease each other. She didn't get much company. It was nice having people in this old house again—vivacious, generous, kind-hearted people, at that. It warmed her heart, and restored a little of her faith in mankind.

"So how are your parents?" she asked Claire.

Claire folded her hands in her lap. "They got divorced about eight years ago."

"Aw, that's a shame."

"No, it's okay, really. I still get to see them whenever I want. It's probably for the best, anyway. All they ever did was argue all the time." _And I was always stuck in the middle,_ she thought resentfully.

"But they're all right? I mean, no illnesses or anything like that?"

Claire shook her head. "They're both in great shape—physically, at least. Mentally, now that's another story."

Mrs. Bender clucked her tongue in sympathy. "Well, at least they've got their health." She turned to Allison. "What about your parents, Allison? Are they all right?"

Allison lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. She exhaled slowly. Smoke floated around her head like a corona. She sighed. "I haven't talked to them in nine years, ever since I moved out of their dreary old house."

Mrs. Bender put a hand over her heart, her face pallid with shock. "What? Nine years! You're shitting me."

"No, really."

Mrs. Bender stared at her. "Jesus Christ, girl! You need to call them, right now. Here, you can use my telephone. I don't even care if it's long-distance. You need to talk to them!"

Allison shuffled her feet anxiously. "You don't understand. It's ... complicated." She blew her bangs off her forehead. "Besides, I don't even know what their number is."

"You can look it up in the phone book. I've got one lying around here somewhere."

"Or you can call the operator and get them to look it up for you," Claire suggested.

Allison gave Claire a baleful look. "I'm wise to your little game, Claire. I know you want me to call my parents. Give it up."

"It's important, Alli. I think it's something you have to get off your chest. I know it's hard, but you have to do this so you can get on with your life. Please!"

"You should listen to her—to us," Mrs. Bender admonished Allison. "All we want is what's best for you. We're worried about you, sweetheart."

Allison averted her eyes. "Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do for me—I really do—but I wouldn't even know what to say to them at this point."

"Start with hello. See what happens, and take it from there."

"I don't know."

Claire put an arm around Allison's shoulders and squeezed affectionately. "You can try. That's all we're asking you to do. Give them a chance; they might surprise you."

"I doubt it," Allison said petulantly.

"Okay, how about this: promise us you'll think about it. That's all I'm asking, just think about it. Okay?"

"Please, Allison," Mrs. Bender pleaded, "promise us you'll think about it. If you won't do it for yourself, then do it for me and Claire—because we both love you very much."

"That's right."

Allison's lower lip quivered. Her resistance faltered. "Okay. I promise I'll think about it."

"Swear to God?" Claire persisted.

Allison nodded. "Swear to God."

Mrs. Bender smiled relievedly. Claire hugged Allison and kissed her on the cheek.

"Well! I need a drink after an ordeal like that," Mrs. Bender said. "You girls want anything?"

Claire checked the time on her expensive wristwatch. "I wish I could stay, but I have to get going. I've got a plane to catch."

Mrs. Bender hid her disappointment well. "All right then. Have a safe flight, Claire." Thunder rumbled again, much louder than before, close enough to rattle the windows in the house. A hard rain began to fall. "Be careful, now. You know how dangerous slick roads are."

"We'll be careful." Allison stooped and kissed Mrs. Bender's leathery cheek. "Take care. I'll talk to you soon. Remember: call me any time you feel like it."

"I will, darling, and thank you so much for everything."

"Any time." Allison put on her peacoat and shouldered her handbag while Claire kissed Mrs. Bender.

"Good-bye, Mrs. Bender. It was so nice meeting you."

"The pleasure was all mine." She patted Claire's hand. "You're a good girl. Keep it up."

Claire smiled sweetly. "Thank you. Oh, remember: you've got my phone number too, so, same deal as Allison. We'll be there for you whenever you need us."

"Damn right we will."

"I won't forget."

"We'll go out to eat sometime soon," Allison said, "any place you want. I'll call you."

Mrs. Bender smiled. "I'd like that."

Claire had already put on her raincoat and had an umbrella in her hand. She opened the umbrella and stepped outside, into the pouring rain.

Allison lingered, slowly buttoning up her peacoat. "You were right."

Mrs. Bender inclined her head to one side. "About what?"

"Something good did come out of all this. The Breakfast Club is back together again, just like John wanted. Everybody promised to stay in touch. I hope we do."

"I'm sure you will."

"Well, I'm not so sure about Andy and Brian, but I think I finally found a real friend in Claire. We've really bonded the last couple of days. I feel so close to her right now, it's weird. I mean, it's a good feeling; I'm just not used to it, that's all." She smiled. "I could get used to it, though. I just hope Claire keeps her promise. I need another woman to talk to, someone I know I can trust."

"Well, in case things don't work out, you've still got me."

Allison beamed. She bent down and kissed Mrs. Bender's forehead. "I have to go now. I'll be in touch." She touched Mrs. Bender's cheek. "Take care. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Mrs. Bender watched the small, lithe young woman walk out, thinking about how much she was going to miss that girl someday, whenever she found a man she loved. She wasn't so sure Claire would call her—people tended to get caught up in the frenetic distractions of their daily lives—but she hoped Claire would surprise her.

Only time would tell.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

Andy had requested a window seat so he could enjoy the view, but all he could see below were clouds, enormous cloudbanks covering thousands of square miles. It was a rainy day in Chicago—nothing unusual about that. His knees ached like they always did when it rained. He knew he would have to replace them with prosthetic joints eventually. Arthritis was just one of the physical maladies he would endure the rest of his life because of his wrestling career, but he didn't mind. He still had his memories: the matches he won, the friends he made, winning the state championship, and the various places he got to visit. All in all, he was a lucky man. He hadn't fully understood that until now. Now he realized just how lucky he was to have his wife and children. He hoped his friends would finally find true love, like he had. His wife wasn't Allison, but perhaps this was how his life was meant to be. He had dated many girls in high school, but only Allison remained dear to his heart. A part of him would always feel like she was the one he let get away, but it was too late to look back now. Time had marched on, relentlessly, as it always did, and things had changed. For the first time since he met Allison, he felt like he was finally able to let her go. He hoped they would be able to remain friends, though. He still wanted to talk to her once in a while and know she was safe and alive. As long as he knew she was okay, that was enough.

He was wearing the black suit he had worn to Bender's funeral, still feeling self-conscious about all the kidding he had taken about his old clothes. No one would laugh at him for wearing a suit. He decided that from now on, it would be best to let his wife continue to choose what he should wear when he wasn't at work. Oh well, at least he hadn't worn one of those old polyester leisure suits with the wide lapels, the kind once popular with the defunct disco crowd. That would have been cheesier than a large order of nachos.

The clouds thinned out and eventually disappeared as the airliner streaked over the Nebraskan countryside. Andy smiled: he was home. This was his home now. He hoped he could stay at Nebraska as long as possible, but coaching wasn't a stable career path. Still, sometimes things worked out that way. He was optimistic about the future. He couldn't wait to see his family again, and tell his wife all about this weekend. One day, when the children were old enough to understand, he would tell them all about The Breakfast Club, too. He ardently hoped they would meet friends like he had, friends who were there for you when it counted the most.

He felt bad about Bender's death being the catalyst for The Breakfast Club's belated reunion. To Andy—and, he supposed, to the others as well—it just wasn't the same without Bender. Bender had been their heart and soul, in a way. When he told off Vernon, he was speaking for all of them. But when Bender needed their help, they had ignored him—everyone except dear, sweet Allison, the fragile little girl with a hard outer shell. It just wasn't right. Guilt and shame gnawed at him like a starving rodent.

As a father, Andy worried constantly. But the high levels of stress he was subjected to, between his family and his job, were taking a toll on him mentally and, even worse, physically. The doctors had said genetic inheritance might have played a role in his father's stroke. That meant Andy might stroke out one day, too. It concerned him. He didn't want to end up like his father—not if he could help it.

Andy remembered the list of phone numbers he had carefully stowed in his wallet. Maybe he would call Brian sometime and talk about it. Brian knew a lot about pressure, but he seemed okay now. Of course, Brian was still a single man. It was different once you put a ring on your finger and sired children—a lot different. Hopefully Brian would discover that himself someday.

Andy's ears popped as the aircraft descended in altitude. He followed the familiar procedure to prepare for landing. He had flown a lot, jetting across the country to scout the true potential of star recruits as well as unheralded wrestlers who were good, but no one knew their names. He was becoming quite adept at scouting talent. It would come in handy if he ever got hired as a head coach somewhere—anywhere—but hopefully at Nebraska. His young family had already laid deep roots in Nebraska.

The pilot executed a routine landing and taxied over to the jetway. Inside the terminal waited the most beautiful woman in the world: his wife. Andy couldn't wait to see her, and the kids, too. They were growing up so fast, it made him feel old sometimes, even though he was under thirty. The burden of responsibility had aged him. He knew when he got married that he had to mature a lot in a hurry if he wanted to survive. He thought he was doing a pretty good job, so far. At least he was trying his best.

That was all you could ask of any man.

xxx

Brian was lucky. He had scheduled an early flight, so he was able to get out of Chicago before the thunderstorm struck. It was smooth sailing all the way, with a nice tailwind as a bonus. The flight was predicted to arrive ahead of schedule, leaving Brian more time to finish his work before going to bed. It was bad enough he was losing an hour due to the change in time zones.

Brian sipped a Tom Collins cocktail and analyzed the past weekend's events in his precise, logical manner. He had really enjoyed seeing his old friends—although he had wept last night at the thought of Bender's eternal dirtnap—but he wondered if they would keep their promises this time. He vowed that he would. If The Breakfast Club broke up again, it would not be because of Brian Ralph Johnson.

_No fucking way._

He had to be honest with himself and admit that seeing Claire again had been very special. He still harbored a pathetic schoolboy crush for Queen Claire. She was just so sexy and so feminine and so ... so _luscious._ Brian blushed as he became aroused imagining Claire stripped bare, her silky red hair fanned out over a pillow, looking up at him with lust in her eyes, licking her lips in burning desire for him. He knew he shouldn't fantasize about her like that—he realized the two of them would never be anything more than close friends—but he couldn't help it.

Instead of cursing his luck and feeling sexually inadequate, like he usually did in these situations, Brian had an epiphany. He and Claire weren't meant to be. When he thought about it cogently, he concluded he would be much better off with a nice, quiet, bookish girl who was close to being his intellectual equal—not quite, but close enough so that they could have intelligent conversations and spawn brilliant children whom they would lovingly nurture. Claire was terrific, but they just weren't a good match as a couple. She was very social, whereas he was shy and disliked being the center of attention, even when he was being honored for his scholarship. That was just the way he was.

In the past, he had to constantly remind himself he wasn't the same skinny, twitchy, self-conscious nerd he was back in high school. He had been able to rehabilitate his image in the eyes of other people, but he had always had trouble believing it himself—until today. This morning, when he looked at himself in the mirror, he saw himself as he really was: tall, handsome, smart, ambitious, and upwardly mobile. For the first time in his life, Brian considered himself quite a catch. He needn't fall to his knees and worship the first girl who was friendly to him, just because he was so starved for female companionship. He could afford to be selective now.

There was a certain redhead who worked in the main campus library who was very young and pretty. She wore glasses and pulled her hair back in a tight bun, but he suspected that beneath that cold exterior was a boiling cauldron of passion just begging to be stoked and stroked. He thought he might ask her out sometime. Even if she said no, that was okay too, because there were plenty more girls out there. He knew one of them was right for him. It was all just a matter of finding her—the one he would eventually marry. He was looking forward to it. Plus, now that The Cold War was over, he was much more optimistic about mankind's future in general. He wanted to have smart children who would grow up and solve the world's problems someday—or at least try their very best. Either way, he would cherish them unequivocally.

Brian understood now that Claire simply wasn't the one, even though a part him wished she was. He felt much better about the whole situation. He hoped he could be a true friend to Claire, instead of betraying her trust by harboring clandestine romantic feelings for her. Besides, her heart belonged to Bender. Bender never did have much in life. The least Brian could do was let him have Claire exclusively. Brian's destiny was with some other woman, one he had yet to meet. He just needed to be ready for when he finally met the right one. He determined that the best thing he could do was to stop worrying about the whole situation and just relax. He had a long life ahead of him still—hopefully. He didn't want to end up old and alone, stuck in some nursing home like a broken toy, ignored by friends who hadn't already died, abandoned by surviving family members. He didn't want to end up like that, shut off from the rest of the world and life itself, with no family or friends, no visitors at all. No one deserved to spend their final years locked away like a prisoner—unloved, unwanted, and forgotten—with no joy at all in their miserable lives.

No one.

xxx

Since Claire had a first-class ticket and thousands of frequent-flyer miles, she was entitled to an electric-cart taxi throughout the terminal, free of charge. She and Allison rode in back as the driver beeped the horn importantly and weaved through the throng of people walking here, there, and everywhere. Allison studied their faces. It was a habit. She was storing up images in her head that she could recall later when she felt inspired to draw or paint. She enjoyed sculptures, too, but the poor results of her projects in pottery class had made her realize her talent was in creating images on paper or canvas or scratchboard—even on the grimy sidewalks of the streets of Chicago, using colored chalk. Some people were writers, some were poets, others played music or acted—some even made sculptures—but what she was good at was drawing and painting. She wished she could play a musical instrument, and she felt in a way that she had the soul of a poet, but she knew what her true creative abilities were. And that was good enough. She had natural artistic talent, and her works pleased her.

That was her motivation: to please herself. To create worlds she could withdraw into, whatever her mood might be. There were colorful worlds, dark worlds, even a great, black void—there was nothing in that world, nothing at all. Mainly, she painted and drew pictures as a form of sanity maintenance. Expressing her feelings through art kept her from going crazy fretting over her own troubles. That was what she tried so hard to teach those autistic children at work. Maybe that way, they could learn how to heal themselves—like she had—and resume trying to live normal lives, instead of staring at nothing and withdrawing into their own made-up worlds. It touched her when she was able to help children learn how to handle their emotions and mood swings. She had learned it the hard way; maybe those kids wouldn't have to suffer needlessly if she could reach them first. That alone had kept her going these past few years.

She was glad she at least had her work and her art; so many people she met these days seemed to have no soul or culture whatsoever. It seemed the downtrodden wanted only to drown their sorrows in drugs and alcohol, instead of trying to improve their lives as best they could; the upwardly mobile cared only about accumulating wealth and materialistic status symbols in order to flaunt their good fortune. Both sides were caught in a vicious cycle of co-dependency. Both sides needed to come together, but they were unable—or unwilling—to find a way to compromise. The modern world was so fucked up, sometimes she thought it might be for the best if those maniacs pressed their buttons, launched their missiles, and blew up the whole planet. Maybe the few people who survived could start fresh. It was a disturbing train of thought, and she began to feel despondent. Now that she had finally made a friend whom she felt like she could trust, Claire was leaving, and Allison would be all alone again.

Well, not entirely. There was always Mrs. Bender. Allison was worried that poor old woman didn't have too many years left. Losing her son had taken a lot out of her, and after the hard life she had endured, she didn't have much left to give. She seemed to be aging at an accelerated pace.

Bender once told Allison there were two kinds of animals on this planet: predators and prey. He said he was a predator, and scolded Allison for being prey. He figured as a predator, at least he had a fighting chance, but he considered people who were prey to be sitting ducks just waiting to get picked off. He didn't want her to end up that way, like so many others he had known. But Allison could never be a predator, and Bender knew it. She was prey: that was her nature. He pitied her for that.

Allison peered surreptitiously at Claire. Claire looked harried and distracted. She was worried about missing her flight back to New York. Her typical poise and elegance had lost some of its luster. This weekend had been a nightmarish eternity in hell for her.

_Poor Claire._

Allison noticed Claire was wearing the earring she had given Bender all those years ago. She wondered if Claire still had the other one.

_Probably. I kept Andy's patch._

Allison decided not to mention the earring to Claire. Some things were better left unsaid. Besides, it was a private matter between her and Bender.

_Like that song John wrote for me._

The cart stopped at Claire's assigned gate. She got off and stood there with a hand on her hip, looking at her watch and shaking her head impatiently. An obsequious airline employee rushed to her side. Claire got the VIP treatment wherever she went, apparently.

The airline agent was a short Asian woman with black hair and thick glasses and a tidy, business-like appearance. She apologized profusely for the delay.

"I'm afraid your flight will be delayed a while, Ms. Standish. I'm very sorry, but it's unavoidable. We can't let your plane take off until the thunderstorm has passed. Safety first, that's our policy."

Claire sighed in frustration, tapping her foot anxiously. "How much longer?"

"We anticipate a two-hour delay, Ms. Standish. Once again, I apologize for the inconvenience, but we'll get your plane in the air just as soon as it's safe to resume flight operations."

Claire didn't bother to hide her annoyance. "Two hours! Jesus Christ. I'm already losing an hour flying back to New York, now this!" She put a hand on her forehead and closed her eyes. "Great," she said testily. "This is all I need. Perfect end to a perfect fucking weekend!"

The airline woman frowned sympathetically. "You can wait in our exclusive executive lounge until your flight's ready. It's reserved for platinum-card holders with first-class reservations and their guests. You and your guest are more than welcome. Everything's complimentary, of course."

Claire was slightly mollified. "All right. I guess that'll have to do, for now."

"It's the least we can do," the airline woman said magnanimously. She led Claire and Allison through a locked door and aboard a private elevator. They ascended to the third floor, then the elevator door opened, revealing an inviting lounge with jazz music playing in the background. Allison's artistic eye appreciated the large room's stylish decor.

_So this is how the other half lives. __Not too shabby._

Claire and Allison stepped out of the elevator. "Enjoy yourselves," the airline woman said, waving as the elevator door closed. She was off to coddle other pampered VIP's who were upset about the delay.

Claire sighed. "Well, we might as well get comfortable. Looks like I'll be here a while." She looked at Allison. "You don't have to stay, you know. You can go ahead and leave, if you want. It's okay. I'm sure you have other stuff to do."

"No, it's okay. I'd rather hang out with you, anyway." Allison blushed. "You know, I'm kind of glad your flight got delayed. It means we get to spend some more time together."

Claire was touched. "Aw." She pinched Allison's cheek. "My baby sister." She made kissing sounds. "You love your big sister Claire so much, don't you."

Allison rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile. "Give me a break."

"No, really, that's so sweet." Claire smiled. "I'm glad we get to spend some more time together, too."

"One condition: no more crying. That's all I've been doing since I found out about—well, you know," Allison trailed off awkwardly.

"I know," Claire said with such sadness in her voice that it shook Allison to the core. "Me, too." She cleared her throat. "Thanks for calling me first, Alli. You always know the right thing to do in these situations." She bit her lip, straining not to cry.

Allison forced a smile. "I'm a woman too, Claire. I understand."

"I would've done the same for you, if it was Andy who—" Claire's voice cracked.

Allison touched Claire's arm. "I know you would."

"At least you got to see Andy. I couldn't even see John. Even at the f-funeral, they wouldn't open the casket. You know what means, right?" Claire balled her fists. Her whole body was shaking.

"Hey, forget what I said before. If you want to cry, sweetie, go for it."

Claire shook her head, blinking away the tears spilling from her eyes. "No, no more bawling. You were right." She finally seemed to unwind and began to relax. She composed herself gradually, with an occasional sniffle, as the tension slowly drained out of her. After a couple of minutes of silence, she patted Allison's shoulder.

"Come on, let's go get our free booze. We earned it."

"Okay."

The open bar had every kind of beverage imaginable. _An alcoholic's wet dream,_ Allison thought cheekily. She got a Signapore Sling; Claire ordered a Bloody Mary. They had to wait a few minutes until their drinks were ready.

They sat down at a booth and sipped their cocktails. Claire was fascinated by Allison's pink concoction. "What is that? It's got a pineapple wedge and a cherry and a little paper umbrella ... it's all fizzy on top ... What kind of drink is that?"

"Singapore Sling. It's kind of old-fashioned, but I like it."

"It's pink!" Claire exclaimed. "That's so cool. I've never heard of Signapore Slings before. It looks so tropical and ... exotic."

"I like it because it tastes sweet, but it packs a wallop. It's like drinking fruit punch spiked with grain alcohol."

"Can I try it?"

"Sure." Allison offered Claire the drink. Claire sipped through the straw, evaluating the unfamiliar mixture. "Wow, that tastes pretty good." Claire sighed. "Here we are, boozing it up again," she remarked, frowning.

"Like you said, sis: we earned it."

"Damn right, baby girl."

Allison wrinkled her nose. "Are you gonna keep calling me that from now on?"

Claire pursed her lips. "I don't know. I haven't decided." She winked cryptically.

Allison leaned across the table. "Hey, you didn't call him 'Johnny boy' when you guys were in the closet at detention, did you?"

Claire shook her head. "No, why?"

Allison glanced around conspiratorially before answering. "He hated being called 'Johnny boy.' That's what his dad used to call him. It really pissed him off." She bit her lip. "You know, he made me swear not to tell anyone else about that, ever." She hunched her shoulders. "I guess it doesn't matter now." She took a big sip of her drink.

"I noticed Mrs. Bender calls him 'my Johnny.'" Claire chuckled. "She is such a trip! I'm so glad I finally got to meet her. She reminds me of John, in a way."

Allison nodded. "I know."

"Hey, do you know how she's doing financially? Is her house paid for? Can she afford to pay all her bills and stuff? We should help her, if she needs it."

Allison considered the idea. "She's probably too proud to take our money, but I'll see what I can find out." She smiled. "That's a real nice gesture, Claire."

"Please! It's the least I can do. You've already done so much to help her, I feel guilty." Claire paused. "Hey, what's her first name, anyway?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"She never told he what her first name is. I've always called her 'Mrs. Bender.'"

Claire stared at Allison. "Are you for real?"

Allison nodded.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Claire blinked. "Wow. I guess I'll have to ask her myself, then."

"If you find out, you can tell me."

Claire shook her head, smiling. "You are such a trip, baby girl." She patted Allison's hand. "Come on. Let's order another round of drinks and hit that buffet. I saw sushi!"

Allison siezed Claire's arm. "Hey! I wonder if they have strawberry milkshakes."

Claire laughed. "This is the executive lounge. If they don't have strawberry milkshakes, we'll make them go out and get us some."

"They'd better have strawberry milkshakes; otherwise, we can't eat sushi."

Claire nodded. "Fucking A."

Allison tilted her head. "Where did you pick up that expression?" she asked, testing Claire.

Claire grinned. "From my little sister. Where else?"

Allison had a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "You mean, your younger sister."

Claire smirked. "Very funny. I'm like, what, maybe a year older than you?"

"Fourteen months, actually."

Claire was becoming annoyed. "What, am I supposed to feel old now, just because I'm fourteen months older than you? Please!"

"Well ... "

"What?" Claire said belligerently.

Allison squealed. "Gotcha!"

"What are you talking about?"

"You were starting to get pissed. Admit it."

"Oh, whatever." Claire hailed a servant girl and ordered another round of drinks. She squinted at Allison. "Why do you always have to fuck with my head?"

Allison shrugged. "I get bored."

Claire rolled her eyes. "You're worse than my brother sometimes."

The servant girl returned with two Signapore Slings. Claire had ordered one for herself. She rather liked the taste of the arcane tropical cocktail.

The servant girl was young and pretty, a college co-ed with a gorgeous figure and a flawless complexion. Claire examined her enviously.

_Just wait till you hit twenty-five, honey._

"You know, this is the first time Harry the bartender ever had to look up a drink recipe," the servant girl told them with a wicked smile. "He said he's been working here for five years, and no one's ever ordered a Signapore Sling before." She winked. "Harry's a little too cocky for his own good. He needed this. Nice job, ladies. Enjoy yourselves."

It was warm in the lounge, so Allison removed her peacoat and rolled up the sleeves of her sweatshirt, exposing her forearms. When Allison reached for her drink, Claire saw some faint scars on the inside of Allison's left arm. "Hey! I never noticed that before."

"What?" Allison asked evasively.

"Those scars on your arm." Claire pointed. "What happened? It looks like you cut yourself."

Allison averted her eyes in shame. Claire suddenly realized just how Allison had gotten those scars. She gasped. "Oh my god, you didn't!"

"I did."

Claire winced. "Holy shit, Alli! You cut yourself?"

"I used to," Allison explained. "The pain was the only thing that reminded me I was alive. Otherwise I just felt nothing. I was numb inside."

Claire gnashed her teeth. "Jesus Christ! That is so fucked up. How long have you been doing this?"

"I don't do it any more—not since I moved out of my parents' house nine years ago. I know I'm still screwed up, but not like I used to be."

Claire was appalled. "How could you do that to yourself?"

Allison sighed. "You don't understand what it's like," she said quietly. "Sometimes I used to hurt so bad inside, when I cut myself, it made me forget about my inner pain. It made me focus on the outer pain instead, so I could forget about all my neurotic mental problems for a little while. It's hard to explain, but it was cathartic, in a way. I know it sounds fucked up, but that's why I did it."

"Oh my god, that's horrible." Claire put her hand comfortingly on Allison's arm. "My baby sister ... oh my god, I can't even think about it." She shuddered.

Allison smiled—a thin, tight-lipped smile. "It's okay. All that shit's ancient history now."

"Did you ever—" Claire shook her head. "Nothing."

Allison sipped her drink. "What?"

"Forget it, it doesn't matter."

"No, go ahead and say it. After all, we're sisters, right?"

"Okay, but just remember: you asked for it." Claire blew out her breath. "I, uh, I was just wondering if you ever thought about, you know—"

"What, killing myself?"

Claire nodded, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Sure, back then."

"What about now?"

Allison shook her head. "I already told you: I'm past all that negative shit."

Claire put a hand on her chest and exhaled. "Thank God."

"Besides, I wouldn't even know where to get a flare gun."

Claire gawked at Allison. Allison was biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Claire shook her head, smiling. "You are such a trip! I can see this friendship is going to be very interesting."

"I thought you were my big sister."

"That's right." Claire grinned. "Don't you mean, your older sister?"

They looked into each other's eyes, giggling like a couple of schoolgirls. Part of it was the alcohol, but something deeper and much more meaningful was happening to them. Allison felt like they were looking into one another's souls. She didn't feel shy or inhibited; she felt only good vibes coming from Claire. Both had known great joy and great pain in their lives—just like anyone else. Life was a series of tests, and of changes. They had lost Bender but gained each other—and hopefully, Brian and Andy, too. At least Bender's death hadn't been meaningless: it had meant a great deal to everyone who knew him, but especially to Allison and Claire.

They held hands, savoring the moment. In their hearts, they truly felt like sisters now. They had survived the crucible of Bender's death together, by supporting one another emotionally. Allison finally believed this time Claire would be there for her, now and in the future, and their relationship would last until they too had died.

Allison wondered again whether there was an afterlife. She hoped Bender was happy—wherever he was—and she hoped he was proud of her, even if she was prey, just waiting to be devoured by the hungry lions that stalked the Earth. One thing was certain: she would never forget him.

Neither would Claire.

Allison looked at Claire and knew Claire was thinking much the same thing. Claire blinked her eyes, bewildered. She stared at Allison.

"What just happened?"

Allison put her hand on Claire's arm. "We just became sisters for real."

Claire's radiant smile lit up the whole room.

xxx

After a ninety-minute delay, Claire's flight was finally cleared for takeoff. She and Allison rode in the electric-cart taxi to the assigned gate. Claire had checked her luggage earlier; all she had to do was get on the plane and fly home. Although she was anxious to get back to New York, she was also reluctant to leave Allison. The only good thing that had come out of this awful weekend was that she and Allison had genuinely bonded. Time would tell when it came to the boys, but she and Allison were as close as twins now. She could call Allison and talk to her any time, and vice versa. Still, that wasn't the same as being together ... but it was better than nothing.

They leaned against one another and hugged. "I'm gonna miss you, baby girl," Claire whispered in Allison's ear.

Allison clutched Claire even tighter. "I'm gonna miss you, too."

They released their embrace and smiled. They knew this was only the beginning of their friendship, and there was a lot more to come in the future. That made this parting somewhat easier to accept.

"Well, I guess I'd better get aboard—"

"Wait a minute." Allison reached into her handbag, pulled out a sheet of paper, and handed it to Claire. "Here, take this."

Claire glanced at the paper. On it were written Allison's home phone number, Mrs. Bender's phone number, and the numbers for Brian and Andy. "Thanks, Alli."

"You'd better call me."

Claire smiled. "Don't worry, I'll definitely be calling you."

"Don't forget to call Mrs. Bender, either. She's counting on you."

"I will. I swear."

"One last thing, sis." Allison hesitated, uncertain how to broach the subject. "You have to promise me something."

"What?"

Allison blew her bangs off her forehead. "If I die first, I want you to play that song 'We are not Alone' by Karla Devito for me at my funeral."

"You mean that song we were dancing to in the library during detention?"

"That's the one."

Claire was alarmed. "What made you think of that? Alli, you're not gonna die—"

Allison grabbed Claire's arm. "Just promise me you'll do it." She looked emploringly at Claire. "It means a lot to me."

Claire nodded. "Okay, I promise."

Allison let go of Claire's arm and smiled. "Thanks, Claire." She kissed Claire's cheek. "Have a safe flight. Call me when you get in so I know you're okay."

"Soon as I get home, I'll call you." The desk clerk announced last call for boarding. "Shit. I gotta go, baby sister."

"You mean, younger sister?"

Claire smiled exasperatedly. "Yeah, that's what I meant."

Allison grinned. "Talk to you later, sis."

Claire hurried to the entrance to the jetway, her heels clacking on the polished floor tiles. She stopped, looked back at Allison, and waved good-bye.

Allison waved back. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

And then Claire was gone, just like that. Allison sat down on one of the plastic contour chairs by the big bay window, watching Claire's plane back out and taxi off toward the runway. She saw Claire's plane take off, climbing steeply into the misty gray sky. She waited until the plane was out of sight, swallowed up by the gossamer clouds, then she left the terminal building and boarded the limousine waiting to take her home.

xxx

It was dinnertime when Allison got home, but she wasn't hungry. She paid the limousine driver a generous tip and went inside her dark, quiet house. She was lonely and depressed again.

Her alcohol buzz had just about worn off, and she was feeling drowsy. She smoked a couple of bong hits and took a long, hot bubble bath, soaking her tension-racked body. The hot water eased her aches and pains. Stress and grief had wrought havoc on her, physically and emotionally. She almost drifted off to sleep in the tub.

After toweling herself dry, she brushed her teeth, then put on deodorant, a clean pair of panties, and an oversized Chicago Bears tee-shirt. She took a Valium and was ready to sleep. The Valium was to knock her out so that hopefully she wouldn't dream.

_Not tonight. Please._

The telephone rang. It was Claire. She had made it back to New York safely and was getting ready for bed. They chatted briefly, then hung up. Both of them were worn out and ready to collapse.

Allison noticed the red light was blinking on her answering machine. She had a new message.

She played it back, curious. It was Mrs. Bender, thanking her again for being such a help. Allison smiled. She had grown very fond of Mrs. Bender lately.

Allison checked to make sure all the doors were locked, turned out all the lights, and climbed into bed. Despite her exhaustion, sleep eluded her. It was too quiet in the house. She needed some company.

Allison thought she might stop by the local animal shelter after work tomorrow and see if they had any cats that needed a home. It was time for a new cat.

Maybe even two.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

The sky was gray and overcast, with intermittent showers. The cold, damp air seeped into Mrs. Bender's battered, brittle bones. Her joints and back ached.

"God damn miserable weather," she grumbled, lying on the couch with a blanket covering her, a bottle of brandy within arm's reach.

She smiled when she heard a tentative knock on the door. She had been expecting company. "Come on in," she called in a gravelly voice, using her cane to raise herself to a seated position on the threadbare couch. She turned off the television set with the hand-held remote control device.

The door swung open and in stepped Allison. "Hi!" she said cheerfully, waving.

"Allison! So good of you to come."

"Oh, it's my pleasure." Allison closed the door and locked it. "Are you sure it's safe to leave your door unlocked?"

Mrs. Bender laughed. "Honey, I've been living here for thirty years. Everybody knows I got nothing worth stealing."

Allison smiled. "Can I get you anything?"

"My pain pills ... I think I left them on the kitchen counter."

"Yeah, I see them." Allison wandered into the kitchen and picked up the prescription bottle. "Need anything else while I'm in here?"

"No, but there's some beer in the fridge, if you're thirsty."

Allison opened the refrigerator and looked inside. She saw a six-pack of Budweiser on the middle shelf. She pulled a can off the plastic rings and opened it with a loud pop. She tasted the beer. It was bitter, but not unpleasantly so. She took another sip, went into the living room, and sat down on a chair by Mrs. Bender. "How've you been?"

"I'm all right." A month had passed since her son's funeral. She was just about over the most difficult phase of mourning.

Allison sipped her beer. All of a sudden she belched. "Excuse me."

Mrs. Bender laughed—a hoarse, wheezing sound. "It's okay, sweetie. That damn Budweiser always gives me gas, too."

Allison grinned. Mrs. Bender's gruff but jovial demeanor always cheered Allison's flagging spirits. It astounded her that someone who had suffered so much pain and misery could still keep laughing and joking, no matter how dire the situation. Mrs. Bender was something of an inspiration.

"Claire called me the other day."

Allison's dark, sultry eyes widened. "Really? That's great!"

"Well, don't look so shocked! I knew she'd call, sooner or later. You should have more faith in her. She's a good girl."

Allison nodded, looking suitably chastened. "You're right." She gave Mrs. Bender the medication bottle. "Here's your medicine."

"Thank you, dear." Mrs. Bender shook two pills into the palm of her hand and washed them down with a swig of brandy.

Allison wrinkled her forehead. "Are you sure it's safe to mix those pills with alcohol?"

Mrs. Bender rolled her eyes. "You're turning into quite a worry-wart for such a young lady." She chuckled. "I'll be fine, don't worry."

"Okay." Allison placed her hands on her knees and sighed. "I went by the funeral home on my way over. I put flowers on his grave." She still felt shaken by the experience. It was hard to believe Bender was really gone.

"That was very thoughtful." Mrs. Bender compressed her lips so tightly, they turned white. "One of these days I'll go visit him ... when I'm ready."

Allison touched Mrs. Bender's hand. The older woman smiled gratefully. "I just hope someone cares enough to put flowers on my grave after I'm gone," she said piteously.

"I will," Allison said impulsively, "I promise. But that's a long ways off! You aren't going anywhere, not for quite a while."

"Not as long as you think, honey."

Allison stared at her. "Don't say that! You're gonna be around a long time."

Mrs. Bender patted Allison's hand. "You're a very sweet girl. I'm gonna miss you when I'm gone."

"Don't talk like that!" Allison felt apprehensive. All this talk of death was upsetting her. "You're gonna be fine. You hear me?"

"I don't know," Mrs. Bender said quietly. "My husband's dead, my little boy's dead ... and the rest of the family doesn't even give a shit. I've got nobody."

"You've got me."

"For now."

"Forever." Allison sipped her beer. "You're not getting off that easy. I still need you."

"One of these days you're gonna meet some nice young man, and the two of you will get married and start your own family."

Allison set her beer down on the dusty coffee table and crossed her arms over her chest. "Maybe. Even so, I'm not running out on you." She put her hand on Mrs. Bender's shoulder. "I already told you: you're a member of The Breakfast Club now. We take care of each other."

Mrs. Bender took Allison's hand and held it gently. "I know, dear, and I appreciate it, I really do." She sighed. "Everybody dies sooner or later, and life goes on without us."

Allison was disturbed by Mrs. Bender's fixation on mortality, so she changed the subject. "So what did Claire have to say?" she asked nonchalantly, sipping her beer.

"Oh, she was just checking on me, asked me how I was ... you know, just chit-chat. Girls' stuff."

"I'm glad she remembered to call you. One less thing I have to worry about."

Mrs. Bender gazed steadily at Allison. "So, have you given any thought to what we talked about last time I saw you?"

Allison was flummoxed. Then she realized where this conversation was going. "You mean, my parents?"

Mrs. Bender nodded.

Allison stood up, enraged. "Damn it! Is that why Claire called you, to check on me behind my back?"

"Of course not! She called to check on me." Mrs. Bender patted the couch cushion. "Sit down." It was not a request.

Allison sat down beside Mrs. Bender, her face devoid of emotion. "You know, if she wanted to know about my business, she could've called me instead," she said peevishly.

Mrs. Bender lifted her arm and draped it over Allison's shoulders. "You made a promise: to me, and to Claire."

"All I promised was that I'd think about it."

"So, have you thought about it?"

Allison nodded, a guilty expression on her face. "Yes."

"And?"

Allison rubbed her nose distractedly. "I don't know. I don't know what to say to them after so many years."

"You're about what, twenty-seven?"

Allison nodded.

"You haven't seen them in one-third of your lifetime. That's an awful long time."

Allison hung her head, ashamed. "I know."

"Don't you think you've punished them enough?"

Allison bristled. "Look: I live in Chicago, and my number's listed in the phone book. They could've looked me up, if they wanted to—if they really cared."

"Maybe they were afraid to."

"Why should they be afraid to call me?"

"Because they feel guilty."

Allison scowled. "They should feel guilty! They made me feel like I didn't matter, like I didn't even exist! Like I was ... nothing." She massaged her temples with her fingertips. She was getting another migraine headache, she could already feel it coming.

Mrs. Bender pulled Allison closer, squeezing her shoulder affectionately. "Everybody makes mistakes, sweetie. Remember you told me how my Johnny used to blame me for not sticking up for him?"

Allison nodded.

"But he eventually forgave me, right?"

Allison tensed up. "This is different."

"How is it different?"

"Because—" Allison sighed, frustrated. "It just is." She stared at the floor, sulking.

Mrs. Bender licked her lips. "Look, sweetie, Claire and I—"

"Claire again! Did she put you up to this?"

"Allison, stop it!" The vitriol in Mrs. Bender's voice got Allison's attention.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't come down on Claire over this. She's your friend: she cares about you, and she loves you. So do I."

Allison's eyes were moist. She gulped. "Do you really mean that?"

"Of course." _God! She looks like a frightened little girl. Poor thing._

Allison laid her head on Mrs. Bender's shoulder. "I love you, too," she whispered, choking up with emotion.

Mrs. Bender craned her neck and kissed Allison's forehead. "Then stop being so mule-headed and listen to me. You trust me, right?"

Allison nodded, tears glistening in her eyes.

Mrs. Bender stroked the back of Allison's head. It made her arthritis flare up, but she ignored the pain. "Listen, honey: Claire told me all your other friends made up with their parents. Now it's your turn. It's all part of the healing process. The sooner you get it over with, the sooner you can put all this behind you and get on with your life, before it passes you by. Believe me, the years go by real fast after you turn thirty. You'll see."

Allison looked into the older woman's eyes. "I don't know if I can go through with it."

"I know it's hard, but you've got to do it. Don't you see? This is what's holding you back, girl! You have to do this, or it's just gonna drag you down. You're a young woman; you've got your whole life ahead of you. You don't want to carry all this emotional baggage around with you the rest of your life, do you?"

There was a lump in Allison's throat she couldn't swallow. "I'm scared." She was crying.

"You're not alone. Me and Claire will be there for you whenever you need us—well, Claire will be, at least. I don't know how many years I've got left in this broken-down old body of mine. But as long as I'm still kicking, you've always got a friend in me."

Allison wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, sniffling. "Thanks."

"If you won't do it for yourself, then do it for me—because I can't just sit by and watch a lovely young lady like you throw her life away. It's important that you reach out to them."

"Well—"

"Look: if they turn you down, then forget it. But at least you tried. That way, your conscience is clear. Promise me you'll do it—for my sake, and yours, too."

Allison bit her lower lip. "Well—"

"What's it gonna be, child?"

Allison gave in. She was too tired to fight any more. She nodded reluctantly. "Okay, I'll do it. I promise."

They embraced warmly. "You're like the daughter I never had," Mrs. Bender said. "My little girl."

Allison smiled. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Mrs. Bender handed Allison a box of tissues. "Go ahead, honey, have a good cry. God knows this old house has seen its share of tears."

Allison wept briefly. Afterwards, she wiped her tear-streaked face and blew her nose.

"Feel better now?"

Allison nodded. Her brown eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot.

Mrs. Bender smiled. "That's my girl."

xxx

As soon as Allison set foot inside her house, two cats were entwining themselves around her legs. She had gotten the cats three weeks ago, saving them from having to be euthanized. They were both females. Their names were Wilhelmina and Anastasia—princess names, so girly, and so unlike Allison. Then again, she had always been capricious, prone to whimsical flights of fancy and other vagaries.

Thinking about princesses brought Claire to mind. Allison couldn't stay mad at Claire. She knew Claire's concern was sincere, and she was glad Claire cared enough about her to be worried.

Allison squatted on her haunches and stroked the cats lovingly. It was therapeutic for her. The cats started purring. After a few minutes, Allison stood up and filled the cats' milk saucers and food trays. Then she filled a bowl with water and set it down beside the cats, who had already pounced on the fresh food and were eating heartily. She grinned. They were two of the cutest felines she had ever seen, and she was happy.

Allison hadn't consumed much alcohol since the weekend of Bender's funeral, but tonight she needed a drink. She made herself a Screwdriver and smoked a bowl of weed. Pleasantly buzzed, she opened up the Shermer municipal phone book she had stolen from a payphone and scanned the residential listings under Reynolds. Yep, there it was: same old telephone number, same old street address.

Allison blew her bangs off her forehead. She didn't want to do this—well, a part buried deep inside her did—but she wasn't going to break a promise she had made to Mrs. Bender. She couldn't.

Allison debated whether she should call first, or just show up unannounced. She decided on the latter. It would have to be at a time when she knew her parents would be home. Early Saturday morning seemed like her best bet. They always slept in late on Saturdays—at least, they used to.

She began to relax, now that she wasn't going to call them tonight. That had relieved some of the pressure bearing down on her like a gravitational field. She felt like she was carrying a heavy load on her shoulders. She couldn't keep carrying it for much longer, or her strength would eventually give out and she would be crushed.

_Might as well go this Saturday and get it over with._

She hung her head in resignation.

xxx

Allison had stopped on her way home and bought some Chinese take-out food. She was just about to sit down and eat when the telephone rang, startling her. She ran to catch the phone before the answering machine intercepted the call.

"Hello?"

"Hey, baby girl."

Allison smiled. "Hey, Claire. What's up?"

"Oh, not much. I got bored sitting around the house, so I thought I'd call and see how you're doing."

"Did Mrs. Bender call you?" Allison asked cunningly.

"No. Why?"

"I went to see her after I got off work today."

"Oh, that's nice. How is she?"

"Oh, I don't know." Allison pulled up a chair and sat down, frowning. "I mean, I think she'll be okay emotionally, but physically, she doesn't look so good. I know she's in a lot of pain, so she has to take all those pills, but she drinks a lot, plus she smokes like a chimney ... I don't know." She sighed. "I'm worried about her health."

"Oh, no." Claire was crestfallen.

"I was thinking, maybe we could talk to her about quitting smoking and going to Alcoholics Anonymous. She needs to do something."

"I'd feel like a hypocrite, telling her that. I'm drinking a wine spritzer and puffing on a cancer stick right now."

"I know what you mean, but we're still young. She's getting old, and her health's already failing. It's a totally different situation."

"I guess you're right."

"We can tag-team her—just like the two of you did to me, to get me to agree to go visit my parents."

"Alli—"

"It's okay, Claire." Allison chuckled. "I know your little game. You can't bullshit your baby sister."

"I was only trying to help."

"I know." Allison cleared her throat. "Well, I suppose you'll be relieved to hear that I finally agreed to do it."

Claire squealed. "That's great! When?"

"Saturday morning."

"This Saturday?"

"Yeah. Mrs. Bender persuaded me. She knows I can't say no to her." Allison smirked. "She's even more devious and manipulative than we are."

Claire laughed. "Well, she's older than us, she's had more practice."

"I guess." Allison's shoulders drooped. "I'm so not looking forward to Saturday."

"Well, look at it this way. Back in high school, I wasn't looking forward to Saturday detention, either. I thought it'd be a total drag, but something wonderful happened instead. Maybe something wonderful will happen to you this Saturday."

"Maybe," Allison said doubtfully.

"Cheer up, baby girl. You know I'm just a phone call away, any time you need me."

"I know. Thanks, Claire."

"No problem. Hey, have you talked to Andy or Brian since the, uh, funeral?" Claire still had difficulty saying that word, especially in regards to her beloved Bender.

"No. I thought about calling them, but I decided to wait and see if they ever get around to calling me first."

Claire's eyes narrowed. "Those motherfuckers! I'm calling them both tonight and bitching them out. They should know better by now."

"They'd better not forget about us. Remind them: they took a vow. We all did."

"Damn right I will."

Allison sighed. "Well, my dinner's getting cold. I stopped and picked up some Chinese food on the way home."

Claire gasped. "Oh my god, Alli, they have the best Chinese food here! You have to come visit me sometime."

"I'd like that. I've always wanted to see The Big Apple. Maybe I can take some time off this summer."

"Awesome."

Allison yawned. "Well, I guess I'd better go eat. I still have to take a bath before I go to bed."

"All right, sweetie. Call me Saturday, after you get back. Let me know how it turns out."

"I will."

"Good luck."

"Thanks, sis."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Allison hung up the phone and went back into the kitchen. She took her food out of the bag and placed the take-out containers on the table. She retrieved her beverage and sat down to eat. She was ravenous, all of a sudden. The weed had given her a bad case of the munchies.

While she ate, Wilhelmina and Anastasia kept rubbing their cheeks on her ankles and purring. She giggled. It was nice having cats in the house again. She felt somewhat less lonesome than before, but there was still something missing in her life.

She wondered how her parents would react to seeing her again after all these years. Maybe they didn't even want to see her. Maybe they were glad she was gone.

_Guess I'll find out Saturday morning._

Allison hoped she wasn't about to make the biggest mistake of her life. She had to do it. She had given her word.

Allison cleaned up the kitchen, turned out the lights, and ran a scalding-hot bubble bath. After a brief hesitation, she swallowed half a Valium.

She needed it, if she wanted to sleep tonight.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

Allison stood on the front porch of her parents' house, staring raptly at the button for the doorbell. Eventually she mustered enough courage to press that button.

Allison heard a distant chime from deep inside the old but familiar house. She ground her teeth nervously. She heard someone approach the front door. An eyeball peered at her through the peephole.

Allison heard someone unlatch the chain. The door swung open with a metallic creak and there was her mother, standing in the doorway, looking at her quizzically.

"Can I help you, miss?"

Allison smiled—a big, bright smile. "Hi, Mom!"

Mrs. Reynolds stared at her in disbelief. Her mouth dropped open. "Allison?"

Allison nodded. She waved timidly.

Mrs. Reynolds put a hand on her chest, covering her heart. "Is it really you?"

"It's really me."

Mrs. Reynolds threw her arms around Allison and embraced her tightly. Allison hugged her back. Mrs. Reynolds sobbed against Allison's chest. "I've been so worried about you."

Allison felt guilty and remorseful. "I'm sorry."

Mrs. Reynolds released Allison and composed herself. "No, honey, I'm the one that's sorry. You wouldn't have stayed away for so long if you didn't have your reasons. I know I wasn't the best mother—"

"It's okay, Mom."

"No, let me say what I have to say. I know your father and I neglected you—it was inexcusable. We were both alcoholics, and we, uh, we took a lot of pills, and—"

Allison squirmed. "You don't have to do this—"

"Please let me finish."

Allison bit her lip. "Sorry."

"Your father and I were so young when we had you," Mrs. Reynolds continued. "I had to drop out of college, and it really set my career back, not having a degree, and, I don't know—maybe, subconsciously, I blamed you for that. But I was wrong, because none of it was your fault." She paused and took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "Well, anyway, I've been clean and sober now for six years. No booze, and no pills—except for the ones prescribed by my doctor for health reasons."

Allison smiled. "I'm so glad." She scrutinized her mother. "You've lost weight. You look good."

Mrs. Reynolds blushed. "What I've lost in weight, I've gained in gray hairs and wrinkles." She fanned herself with her hand. "God, it's so warm out here!"

"Why don't we go inside," Allison suggested. "You can turn on the air-conditioner."

Mrs. Reynolds rolled her eyes. "Now, why didn't I think of that? I must be getting batty in my old age." She opened the door all the way and stood aside. "Come on in."

Allison stepped inside and looked around, blinking as her eyes adjusted from the bright sunshine to the gloomy interior of the house. The carpet in the living room was different, and the house no longer smelled like an ashtray, but otherwise it was pretty much the same as she remembered it. She felt like she was like going back in time. The thought made her shiver. She had goosebumps on her bare arms.

Allison looked around, concerned. "Where's Dad?"

Mrs. Reynolds sighed. "Your father and I got divorced."

"Oh." Allison felt self-conscious. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, it's all right. Here, have a seat."

They both sat down on the sofa, which was lined with clear plastic to prevent stains. "What happened?" Allison inquired.

"Well, you see, I stopped drinking and taking pills, but your father just couldn't kick his old lifestyle. If I'd stayed with him, I would've ended up back-sliding and falling back into the same old bad habits. So, we got divorced." She waved. "I got the house, as you can see. I let him keep his precious Cadillac. Every three years, he'd trade in his Cadillac for a new one. You know, sometimes I think he cared more about those stupid cars of his than he ever did about you or me." She frowned. "I shouldn't say things like that. After all, he's still your father. I don't want to poison your relationship with him."

"Where is he now?"

Mrs. Reynolds hung her head. "He lives in Cleveland now, with his new wife. He still pays me alimony, though."

Allison felt cold inside. _Cleveland!_

"I can give you his phone number, in case you want to call him sometime."

Allison nodded. "Okay."

Mrs. Reynolds jotted down a long-distance phone number and handed the slip of paper to Allison. "I'm sure he'd like to hear from you."

"You really think so?" Allison looked earnestly into her mother's hazel eyes.

Mrs. Reynolds nodded. "Absolutely. We both missed you." She knitted her eyebrows when she noticed Allison was starting to cry. "What's wrong, dear?"

Allison sniffled. "I feel like it's my fault you got divorced."

Mrs. Reynolds touched Allison's hand. "It's not your fault. Your father and I were co-dependent alcoholics and drug addicts. We had to get away from each other, for our own sake. It had nothing to do with you."

"Really?"

"Really."

Allison wiped her eyes and smiled. "Thank you."

They chatted for a while, catching up on old times, gossiping about their relatives and neighbors. When Mrs. Reynolds mentioned she attended Alcoholics Anonymous meetings once a week, Allison told her about Mrs. Bender.

"She's a real nice lady," Allison went on. "I've been meaning to talk to her about going to AA."

"You mean, like an intervention?"

"Kind of. Anyway, if she agrees to go, would it be okay if I introduce you to her? She's about the same age as you are—maybe a few years older—but she needs someone her own age to talk to. You know what I mean, right?"

"I think so." Mrs. Reynolds nodded in assent. "All right, if she's willing to give AA a try, I'd be glad to meet her and try to help her, if I can."

"Thanks, Mom." Allison kissed her mother's cheek.

Mrs. Reynolds felt a warm, glowing sensation. She couldn't believe her little girl had come back after all this time. She was so glad ... and so relieved. "You know, I probably didn't tell you this nearly enough before, but I do love you, sweetheart."

"I love you, too," Allison said kindly.

Mrs. Reynolds smiled. "You'll always be my little girl." She choked up. "Excuse me."

Mrs. Reynolds got up to turn on the air-conditioner. Allison groped inside her handbag and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Is it okay if I smoke?"

"I quit smoking when I gave up all my other bad habits," Mrs. Reynolds said, striding back to the sofa with a glass of water and a coaster. "Ever since then, there's been no smoking allowed in this house. You'll have to step outside, if you want to smoke."

"Okay, no problem."

"I'll have a nice glass of cold water waiting for you when you come back."

"Okay. Thanks, Mom."

Allison stepped outside and shut the door behind her. She couldn't believe she was back, after all these years. She never thought she would miss this place, but she had. For better or worse, this was where she grew up. That made this place special—special to her, anyway. It was an inextricable part of her life. So were her parents.

Allison lit a cigarette and puffed nervously. She felt strange, but in a good way. She was all tingly, and her stomach was queasy with anxiety, but she was happy to see her mother again. Even better, her mother seemed happy about it, too.

_Guess I'll have to call Dad one of these days._

Allison hoped her father would be glad to hear from her, too. If not, at least she still had her mother—and The Breakfast Club, of course, including Mrs. Bender.

It was a beautiful spring day, warm and sunny. Spring had always been her favorite season. It was a time of renewal and rebirth. That was how she felt right then: reborn, like an innocent, wide-eyed infant, entranced by the limitless wonders of this vast, incomprehensible world.

Allison smelled the honeysuckle that was starting to bloom. She heard the whine of bees buzzing around it, spreading the pollen that made the plants grow. Next door, at the Kimmels' house, a strapping young man was trimming the hedges. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't connect a name to that face.

It was a handsome face, lean and rugged, tanned by years spent working outdoors. The young man stopped, wiped sweat from his forehead on a towel, and removed his shirt. His body was lean and muscular, with some kind of tattoo on the right bicep.

Allison blushed. She felt like a voyeur, watching him, but she couldn't look away. The primal yearning of her repressed sexuality was overwhelming.

Allison decided to take a chance, for once. She walked slowly but steadily to the Kimmels' yard, her eyes fixated on the virile young man with the tattoo.

_I wonder what kind of tattoo he has._

He bent down to pick up the hedge clippers, then stopped when he saw Allison approaching. He stood up straight, staring at her. She looked hauntingly familiar to him. He raised his hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the sun.

"Allison?" he said. "Allison Reynolds?"

She nodded. "You remembered me."

"Of course I remember you. You don't recognize me, do you?"

Allison racked her memory. "Bobby? Little Bobby Kimmel?"

He smiled. "Yeah! I just stopped by to mow my mom's yard. That way she doesn't have to pay somebody else to do it for her."

"That's nice. How is your mother?"

"She's okay. She's getting older, but she's still in pretty good shape, health-wise. I usually come by on the weekends and help her with stuff that needs to be done around the house. I keep telling her, she's retired. It's her time to relax now."

Allison brushed a sheaf of hair behind her ear and smiled coquettishly. "So look at you. Wow! All grown up."

He grinned shyly. "I guess so."

"You look like you work out."

Bobby shoved his hands in the back pockets of his faded blue jeans. "Oh, yeah, I work out pretty regularly. When I was in the military, I got in the habit of staying in shape." He studied Allison. "Hey, you look great! No kidding."

"Thank you. So what've you been up to since high school?"

"Well, after I graduated from high school, I joined the Navy. Served six years active duty. I was a Seabee."

"What's that?"

"Oh. Well, Navy Seabees are like grunts—you know, infantrymen—but we're also construction workers. That's our motto: 'We build, and we fight.' I was a heavy-equipment operator."

"Are you still a sailor?"

Bobby shook his head. "Nah, I've been out for a couple years. It sure feels good to be a civilian again."

"You've got a military haircut."

He ran a hand over his crew-cut blonde hair and grinned. "Well, I guess I got used to wearing it this way, after six years. I like it. It's low-maintenance."

Allison laughed. "I remember when you used to have hair down to your waist! You were a real rock-and-roller back then."

"Oh, I know! I show my friends pictures of me from back then, and they can't believe it's really me." He noticed Allison was smoking, so he lit a cigarette of his own. "Damn, I need to quit smoking," he said, smoke billowing from his nostrils.

"It's a hard habit to quit. Believe me, I've tried."

"It's all a matter of willpower." Bobby smiled bashfully. "You know," he said, clearing his throat, "I had a crush on you big-time when we were kids."

She stared at him. "Really?"

He nodded. He had piercing blue eyes—just like Andy's. Eyes that looked right into Allison's soul. She shook her head, trying to think of something to say.

"How come you never told me?" she asked, pouting. She knew that pouting act drove men crazy.

Bobby blushed. "Oh, I don't know. I was just ... shy, that's all. You were a year older than me, and you looked like you didn't want anybody to bother you, so, I left you alone. Stupid, huh?"

Allison rolled her eyes. "Why are the good ones always so shy? A lot of guys are total pricks, and believe me, they aren't shy."

He laughed self-consciously. "So, am I one of the good ones?"

She gave him a cool look of appraisal. "I don't know. I have to get to know you better."

Bobby was tall, well over six feet tall. He leaned down closer to Allison's level. "How?" he asked breathlessly.

She clasped her hands behind her back coyly. "Well, you could start by giving me a call sometime."

Bobby was mesmerized by Allison's enchanting brown eyes. "Maybe we could go out to dinner, or something."

"Sounds good to me. Oh!" She slapped the back of her hand against his chest. "I meant to ask you: What kind of tattoo is that on your arm?"

He squinted at her. "Huh? Oh." He flexed his right arm so she could see. It was a U.S. Navy tattoo, with an eagle and an anchor and a shield with the colors of the American flag on it. Underneath it was a bee wearing a sailor's hat, holding an adjustable wrench, a hammer, and a machine gun. Allison surveyed the tattoo, mentally critiquing it.

"It's pretty."

Bobby frowned. "It's not supposed to look pretty, it's supposed to look tough!"

Allison chuckled. "Sorry, tough guy. I didn't mean to tarnish your _macho_ image."

He smiled. "Well, you can make it up to me by giving me your phone number."

"Maybe I will," she said demurely, batting her eyelashes.

Bobby flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette. "You know, when we deployed to Kuwait, we were on a Navy amphibious ship, sailing for the Persian Gulf. In the ship's store, once we were at sea, I could buy a carton of Marlboros for less than five bucks. We could only buy two cartons per pay period, but it was enough to keep me stocked up on coffin nails for the duration." He smiled. "You know, seeing how those anchor-crankers lived, sure made me glad I was a mud sailor and not a deck ape."

"What's that?" Allison asked with feigned interest.

"Oh. Well, uh, deck apes are those guys who do all that marlinspike seamanship stuff—you know, tying and untying the mooring lines, lowering and raising the anchor, loading and unloading of stores, fuel, ammunition ... stuff like that. On a ship, that's called the deck division. I was a mud sailor, which means I was on the ground, not out riding the waves. Only time I was on a ship was when we deployed to Kuwait. Then, when we got there, we didn't even have a military base. We had to build our own camp, even our own barracks. We were sleeping on the desert sand for the first couple weeks. We were still expecting the enemy to attack us, so we had to stand watch every night and guard the camp. It was hot as hell, especially wearing all that MOPP gear. We were constantly drinking water so we wouldn't get dehydrated from the heat. I didn't get much sleep, between working and pulling guard duty. It was a trip."

A stray thought struck Allison. "Oh my god! Were you in the war?"

"What, Desert Storm? Yeah, I was there."

"Was it bad?" she asked quietly.

Bobby shook his head. "Nah. My unit deployed, but by the time they sent in us ground-pounders, the war was pretty much over. The zoomies already bombed Iraq back to The Stone Age. All we did was stand around, guarding some raggedy-assed Iraqi prisoners. They were pitiful. They didn't even look like soldiers. They were just thankful we fed them. They were starving from the blockade."

"So you never got in any gun battles or anything?"

"Nah. I couldn't believe it. I extended my tour of duty by two years because we were going to war; then, when we got over there, we just sat around with our thumbs up our asses most of the time. It was a real drag. I never thought a war could be so boring."

"Are you disappointed you didn't get to kill anybody?"

Bobby arched his eyebrows. "What kind of a question is that?"

"I was just curious."

"Well, I mean, you know, when we got our orders to deploy, it's like, I knew there was a pretty good chance I'd end up in battle. I thought we were in a real shooting war, at first. But that's what our infantry training was for, so we'd be ready in case they sent us to a combat zone."

"Were you scared?"

Bobby shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe, a little. But when you're in the military, that's the way it is—even if the bad guys are tossing grenades at you, you've still got a job to do. That's the way I looked at it. Besides, when duty calls, you have to go. You don't have any choice." He smiled. "Believe it or not, I'm glad I served. I got to do a lot of fun stuff, I met some cool people, plus I got to shoot some really kick-ass guns, even crew-served weapons. It was a blast."

Allison smirked. "Too bad they didn't turn you loose on Saddam Hussein. You look like a real killing machine, like Dolph Lundgren or something."

Bobby tilted his head, lost in thought. "I guess I'm lucky. My dad was in Vietnam, and he saw a lot of real bad shit. At least I don't have nightmares about my buddies getting killed, or people getting blown to bits all around me. I can live without that."

She grimaced. "That's awful."

"My mom said he was never the same after the war. He came back a different person. War changes people, and not in a good way."

Allison's expressive eyes said so much more than words ever could. "I can only imagine."

Bobby yawned and stretched his long, sinewy arms. "Anyway, that's all in the past. Like I said, I'm out of the Navy."

"How's your dad?"

"He died a few years ago, when I was stationed overseas at Diego Garcia. They granted me emergency leave. I flew home in my dress blues. They sent an Army color guard, since my dad was a war veteran. They played taps, then they folded up the American flag and gave it to my mom—you know, all that toy-soldier stuff."

"Aw. I'm sorry."

Bobby hunched his broad shoulders. "Well, that's life, I guess. Nobody lives forever, right?"

"So what do you do these days?" she asked, deftly changing the subject.

"I'm a crane operator in the city—construction work. Pays pretty damn good, actually."

"Do you like your job?"

Bobby scratched his head. "It's okay, but it's the same old thing I used to do in the Navy, except without the guns or saluting or any of that GI stuff. Like I said, it's a good-paying job, but it's kind of boring. I've been thinking about trying my hand at something else—something different, something new."

"Like what?" Allison twirled a strand of hair around her finger. She was trying every trick she knew, every subtle nuance she had picked up from Claire. She rather liked this grown-up version of Bobby Kimmel, the erstwhile little boy who had grown up next door to her. He seemed like a genuinely good man. The fact that he was cute and had a great body was merely a bonus.

He grinned sheepishly. "I don't know! That's the problem: I can't decide on a major."

"Are you in college?"

"Well, I've been going to Shermer Community College three nights a week, just taking some basic courses. It's a lot cheaper that way. Hopefully I'll be able to pick a major by the time I get done there."

"I went to Shermer Community College for two years. You're right, it's a great way to save money. Classes are so much cheaper there, than at some four-year university."

"Yeah. Actually, Uncle Sam's paying my college tab, so it doesn't really matter to me. I get the GI Bill since I was in the Navy, so that pays for my education. Oh, and I get VA benefits, too." Bobby smirked. "Your tax dollars at work."

She smiled. "I'm glad the government's doing something good with the money they take from me."

He nodded. "Hey, how are your folks?"

"They got divorced a few years ago."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, it was for the best. Anyway, my mom still lives here."

"So you're just visiting, huh?"

"Yeah. I haven't been by to see her in a while, so, here I am." She frowned. "I need to call my dad. He lives in Cleveland now. He got re-married. It's been a while since I talked to him, too."

"So, are you gonna give me your phone number, or do I have to beat it out of you? I know hand-to-hand combat, you know."

Allison elbowed him playfully in the ribs. "God! You really come on strong, don't you."

"Hey, didn't your mother ever warn you about flirting with sailors?" He winked.

Allison giggled. "You're too much, you know that?"

Bobby glanced at his wristwatch and sighed. "Shit! I'd love to stand here all day catching up with you, Allison, but I've got to mow this yard ASAP."

She wrinkled her nose. "What does that mean?"

"Oh, it stands for 'As Soon As Possible.' After all that time in, I'm still in the habit of talking in military terms."

"Well, as long as you don't start marching in your sleep, I guess you'll be okay," she teased him.

Bobby heard the sound of a lawnmower in the distance, further down the block. He smelled freshly-cut grass. "I love spring. It's my favorite time of year."

"Mine, too." Allison wrote her home phone number on a scrap of paper from her handbag and gave it to Bobby. "I'd better get going," she said. "My mom's waiting on me, and you've got a yard to mow, mister!"

Bobby tucked the scrap of paper carefully inside his wallet. "Well, I will definitely be calling you very soon," he pledged. "It was good seeing you again."

"Same here. Talk to you later—you big stud."

Bobby grinned, then turned his back and bent to pick up the hedge clippers. Allison strolled next door, back to her mother's house. Her head was spinning.

_Oh my god. Did I really just call him a big stud? No fucking way!_

Allison felt dizzy and giddy, like she was on Ecstasy. Her body was twitchy, her mind keen and alert. It was only ten o'clock in the morning, and already so much had happened. She had made amends with her mother, and she had just met a really nice guy. It was funny how people from the past came back to you sometimes, like Claire, Mrs. Bender, and the rest of The Breakfast Club had.

Allison's senses seemed heightened. The sunlight dazzled her eyes. The chirping of birds and locusts was deafening. The gentle breeze chilled her skin. The scent of honeysuckle and wildflowers was overpowering. Her mouth tasted like stale coffee and cigarettes.

Allison felt like she was about to have an anxiety attack, but she couldn't stop smiling. She took a deep breath and reminded herself to take it easy. _No expectations, just go with the flow. Don't push him away by seeming too needy._ The same kind of advice Claire would have given her.

Claire. She said something wonderful might happen today.

_Wait till she hears the news!_

Allison decided to stop and smoke another cigarette before she went back in to see her mother. She needed to calm down.

It was a gorgeous day, without any clouds. The sky was such a vivid blue—_kind of like Bobby's eyes._ Allison felt vital; her nerves were honed to a fine edge. She was nervous but happy. She felt like there was hope for her yet. Hope that a reformed basket case could finally find love and happiness and peace of mind. Hope that she would meet that elusive soulmate she had been searching for all of her life. Hope that she might bear children of her own someday. Hope that she would finally know how it truly felt to be accepted and cherished for who she was.

Allison felt something else she hadn't felt in a long time. She felt ... alive. For the first time in years, she felt alive again.

And it felt wonderful!

She couldn't wait to call Claire and tell her all about it.

**The End**


End file.
